


Have Heart, My Dear (We’re Bound To Be Afraid)

by noos



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Do not ask me what Wilsh is doing with Erik and Julian, Elany makes an appearance too, F/F, F/M, I don't even know how I expect people to react to it so, M/M, Multi, So yeah, Some of the ships are pretty uncommon, and then, as usual, but who i kept thinking looked so much like Erik from the back?, he's only got himself to blame, i have no clue what this is, kloppo makes a cameo, naturally, so there's that, there was a picture of him doing that shot thing where you drink out of someone's mouth?, wherever Erik goes Julian goes, who apparently was Joe Hart?, with some guy, yeah so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 78,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7908967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noos/pseuds/noos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mario does not do cuddling. Ever. And certainly not with strange men and in strange beds and in strange rooms. And yet, here he is, in some guy's bedroom in Munich - at least he hopes he's still in Munich - with his hands firmly gripping this man's waistline, fingers framing strong bony hips and legs tangled together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, I actually really hate writing author's notes because I never know what to say. But I've been working on this thing for about a year, so it probably deserves some semblance of a note.
> 
> Right. So, the idea for this started at an ungodly hour almost a year ago when Elany and I were screaming götzeus headcanons at eachother on Whatsapp - as one does - and she mentioned the götzeus one-night-stand trope. I was actually kinda writing something else at the time, but also lacking the inspiration to continue that one, and was even planning on taking a break from writing altogether. Except that this kinda immediately struck a cord, and before I knew it, I had over ten established characters, a band named after Tolkien's wife, and a bunch of mascot monkeys. As with all my fics, the word count kept going up and up and up and up until I gave up pretending I had any sort of control over it whatsoever.
> 
> It sort of became a giant pot of wish-fulfillment combined with a lot of self-indulgence and a few crack headcanons. So yeah. If you're expecting quality, then I suggest you close this window and go looks for Dezemberzarin's fics, because quality sure as hell isn't here.
> 
> The best part about writing this, tho, is that I managed to visit Germany while writing it. I visited Berlin, Munich, and Dortmund, and managed to watch both Bayern and Dortmund play, which was amazing. I had originally looked up the locations on google before I visited the country, and then, once I'd decided on the streets they'd be living in and the locations mentioned in the fic, I actually included them in my plans for the trip. It was honestly a very fulfilling experience on both sides. Visiting something you've written about without having ever seen is so surreal, and I kept grinning to myself when I was on the street where in my head Mario lived as a child. And then coming back and adjusting the fic because I could be more accurate now that I'd actually seen the locations was just as fulfilling. 
> 
> And, during my trip to Germany, I was lucky enough to meet my beta, Elany. We did the Allianz Arena stadium tour together, raided Bayern's fanshop, took way too many pictures with cardboard cutouts of the players and Mario's locker, and then watched Bayern play Atletico Madrid at a pub in Munich, and it was honestly one of the best days of my life. 
> 
> So, on an exceptionally sappy note:
> 
> To Elany, thank you for putting up with my 600 drafts of this thing, for giving me the perfect dog names, for researching Auba's car choices and German architecture and basically being my google when I was too lazy to actually google. For being an amazing beta and friend, for listening to me rant endlessly, and for generally being one of the greatest things about the Internet. 
> 
> I hope you guys like it. 
> 
> Title from the Snow Patrol song.

_Where the fuck am I?_

 

That's not exactly what Mario imagines to be his first thought when he wakes up that Saturday morning. But it somehow is, because he wakes up at what he assumes is the crack of dawn, snuggled up into a pair of pale tattooed arms, tufts of blond hair tickling his chin.

 

 _Snuggled fucking up._  

 

He does not do cuddling. Ever. And certainly not with strange men and in strange beds and in strange rooms. And yet, here he is, in some guy's bedroom in Munich - at least he hopes he's still in Munich - with his hands firmly gripping this man's waistline, fingers framing strong bony hips and legs tangled together. 

 

He finally jerks awake when he fully realizes his situation, jumping in the bed so phenomenally that it's a miracle the other guy doesn't wake up. 

 

_Seriously, where the fuck am I?_

 

He manages to detach himself from the other man's grip with some difficulty, nearly falling off the bed in his haste to get up. The sudden movement somehow wakes something in him, and a rush of memories trickle down his brain like an ice cold stream of water, bits and pieces standing out in his mind until he can roughly make out why he's here.

 

Montana's birthday party. Or, well, her fifth birthday celebration in the span of three months. She really has got to stop using her birthday as an excuse to get him to go out. Anyway, he's pretty sure they went to some club after their shift at Benni's ended. He spent the entire night by the bar. With some guy? Blond, pale, tattooed. If his memory serves him right, the guy somehow got him to leave his stool and join him on the dancefloor. He remembers spotting Montana laughing with some equally pretty girl. André and Thomas there too. A whole bunch of people he doesn't know. And, fuck, did he make out with this boy on the dancefloor? Because he's pretty sure he made out with this boy on the dancefloor. Marco, his mind finally supplies for him. And judging from his current location, Mario's going to assume they did a lot more than make out. It could be worse, Mario supposes. He's not exactly his type, but Mario has to admit, he is rather aesthetically pleasing under this light, his pale skin contrasting against the dark swirls on his arms and shoulder. 

 

Something flutters in his chest as he looks at him, and he takes a moment to run his fingers through his hair lightly. There's something familiar about the way the threads feel as they tickle Mario's hand, something exciting about the "Hi, I'm Marco." that suddenly plays on a loop in his mind when his fingers lose themselves in the boy’s hair. It's a good thing Mario never has to see him again. 

 

He picks up his clothes off the ground, pulls his jeans on as quietly as he can before he throws his shirt over his head. It's inside out, he vaguely registers, but he's too hungover to care. He pulls on his unlaced high tops, runs his fingers through his messy threads, and takes one last look at the blond figure in the bed before he makes his way out of the room.

 

* * *

 

"Ugh, Mario, if we're late again because of your little detour, Benni's going to kill us. And if Benni kills us, I am going to kill you."

 

"Relax, Montana." Mario sighs for probably the sixth time in less than five minutes. "We've got plenty of time to make it to the pub for our shift."

 

"I hope you're right, Götze. Because I cannot stand Benni's whining anymore. If I have to hear about how the pub is nearing bankruptcy one more time, I will gouge my eyeballs out," Montana mutters, rolling her eyes as she rotates her lip ring with her fingers. Mario's known her long enough to know she does that when she's put off. It doesn’t matter how many times Mario tells her she shouldn’t do that, she never listens to him. Besides, she knows she can count on him to clean out the infection for her every time she ends up chafing her skin.

 

"Benni's whining has absolutely nothing to do with me and everything to do with his excruciating need to get laid."

 

"True. But that's beside the point. I still don’t get what’s wrong with the route we’ve always taken to get to work. It was fine before, why do we suddenly have to do a ten-block-detour?" 

 

Mario rubs his hands together, trying to keep warm as they make their way through the streets. It's cold this afternoon. Not the coldest day he's had in Munich, but he can feel the autumn breeze seep into his bones and his thousand layers of clothing are nowhere near enough.

 

"Stop being so dramatic, Monty," Mario groans, rolling his eyes as he watches his breath fog up in front of his face for a fleeting second before it disappears. "It's barely two blocks. And I told you, the park on that street has a lot of snakes, and I worry they're gonna crawl out or something."

 

Lie. That's such a motherfucking lie. But Mario is not about to tell Montana that the reason their daily walk to work has suddenly been extended by fifteen minutes is because he doesn't want to walk by Marco's building. She won't understand it. Probably because Mario himself doesn't understand it. 

 

It's not like he spends his days thinking about a guy he slept with once, weeks ago. He really, really doesn't. But sometimes he'll glimpse a flash of blond hair in the crowd when he's waiting for the bus, and his heartbeat will speed to an alarming rate. And about a week after it happened, he was walking to work - alone, Montana had the day off - and he realized as he was passing Marco's building, that it was in fact Marco's fucking building. And he panicked. And fuck, it pisses him off so much that the few times he thinks about him, it's _Marco_ , as opposed to _that guy I slept with once,_ as it should be.

 

"Funny how we've been taking that road since we moved into our apartment and you remembered that now," Montana mumbles, pulling her phone out and typing furiously. "I'm not even sure there really are snakes in Germany. It's too fucking cold. They'd probably freeze to death if they showed themselves." She's quiet for a moment as she continues to type something onto her screen. She pops her mouth a minute later before she stores the phone back into her coat pocket and looks up at Mario. She really is pretty under all that dark makeup. Not exactly Mario's type, but André's definitely a fan of all those tattoos covering her body. And Mario has to admit, there's something so wholesomely badass and geeky about having anime characters tattooed all over. Even that ridiculous Sailor Moon one peeking through her collar. "Anyway, remember my friend Ann is dropping by the bar tonight. I can't wait for you to meet her. And I can't wait for her to meet your eyebrows. She is going to die when she sees them."

 

"I feel like I shouldn't be as proud of that as you think I should be."

 

"Yes, you definitely should. Embrace the gay in you," Montana declares, and Mario's more than relieved she's dropped that other horrifying subject. 

 

"So you're saying the gay in me has everything to do with my perfectly tweezed eyebrows and nothing to do with my uncontrollable attraction to male body parts," Mario says slowly, raising his eyebrows.

 

"Exactly."

 

"Astounding logic," he tells her, elbowing her lightly. "I'm surprised Benni hasn't made you part-owner yet."

 

"I'd rock that post and you know it," Montana says, smirking at him and messing with the beanie on his head. Mario swats her hands away, laughing as they round the corner.

 

"Yes, I do know it."

 

* * *

 

"Has anyone ever told you your eyebrows are impressively neat?"

 

Mario looks up from the drink he's fixing to find the person the voice belongs to, and he's temporarily left speechless by the bombshell in front of him. He wrinkles his nose in disgust for a moment, the word bombshell not one of his favourites, but he's never actually found the need to use that word so badly in his life. 

 

"Ann, I'm assuming?" He asks, lips quirking up to one side, and the girl smiles back at him, tapping her finger slowly against her cheek. 

 

He both can and can't understand how this is Montana's best friend. He's been lectured so many times not to judge a book by its cover, but it's especially hard not to when the cover looks like this. Ann's pink glossy lips, beach-ready hair and form-fitting bodysuit are a far cry from Montana's dark lips, choppy hair and combat boots combo.

 

"Do you always tap into your psychic powers when someone compliments your eyebrows?"

 

Mario laughs a little too loudly, smiling at the girl in front of him. She returns the smile with one of her own, unwrapping her scarf and dropping it on the bar next to her coat.

 

"Ugh, Ann, stop hitting on him, he's gay," Montana interrupts before she can say anything, appearing out of nowhere and nearly hopping over the bar to plant a kiss on Ann's cheek.

 

"Are you kidding me, M? The man has the holy grail of hair patches on his forehead, of course he's gay," Ann shoots at her, pointing vaguely at Mario's face. Montana smiles at her friend proudly for a second, turning to raise her eyebrows at Mario and yeah, he totally gets why she and Ann are best friends. "Anyway," Ann dismisses, fixing her hair before she takes a seat on the stool right in front of Mario, "it seems my best friend has lost her manners. I'm Ann," she continues, extending one hand towards Mario.

 

"I thought I was her best friend," Mario objects lamely, wiping his hands on a random piece of cloth before shaking Ann's.

 

"You were an interim best friend until I got back from Miami," Ann explains, shrugging her shoulders.

 

"Nice," Mario mutters, still smiling. "Well, I'm Mario, the apparently gay man behind the Holy Grail."

 

"And I'm Thomas."

 

It’s just like Thomas to make his near-daily appearance at the pub right this second. It’s not really unexpected. After all, Mario’s roommates spend nearly all their days here. And, in true Thomas fashion, he proceeds to nearly miss the stool entirely as he tries to sit next to Ann as smoothly as possible, almost falling on his face before he manages to grip the bar and steady himself. It's only a second later that Mario notices André coming up behind Thomas, wiping his presumably sweaty palms on his jeans.

 

"I'm way out of your league," Ann tells Thomas, shaking his hand regardless and smiling at the lanky boy. Mario takes the chance to serve them two pints of beer before filling a third one up for André. 

 

"Yes, you are," Thomas agrees, nodding along as Ann laughs.

 

"H- Hi Montana," André mutters when the girl in question comes back from serving a customer, waving awkwardly at her and turning beet red when she winks at him.

 

"Ooh, you're André!" Ann shrieks, nearly toppling over in her haste to lean over Thomas and take a better look at André.

 

"How did yo-"

 

"Götze! Yorke!" Benni interrupts, coming up from behind them and putting an arm around each of his employees. He seems a little too excited, and Mario can't help but share a look with Montana. He's never seen his boss look quite so happy. It's unsettling. "I've got great news!"

 

"Do tell, boss," Montana urges, staring up at Benni's thinning hair, loose and down to his shoulders these days. 

 

"I found the answer to our financial problems," he announces, and Montana turns to look at Mario again, mouthing something at him. 

 

_Our?_

 

"We're gonna have a live band play on Thursday nights," he adds, and Mario breathes a sigh of relief. He's still convinced one of these days Benni will contemplate turning this hole into a strip club and Mario will be the first item on his burlesque menu.

 

"Did you say live band?" Ann asks, her ears perking up, and Benni turns to look at her like she just appeared. "I'm sorry, hi," Ann clears her throat and extends her hand Benni's way, and Mario can tell she's using all her womanly prowess on his boss. "My name is Ann, and I couldn't help overhearing that you're going to have a band play here, and I'm part of a band who's currently looking for more gig-"

 

"Sorry, kid," Benni interrupts, nearly shocking Ann into silence. "This is still a tentative thing, and right now Mats' band is all I can afford."

 

"No, but, if you just listen to us, we're real-" she starts again but comes to a halt all too suddenly. "Wait. Mats. You're not talking about Mats Hummels, by any chance?"

 

"Yes, I am. Matsi's band is going to be playing here!" Benni tells her with a scary amount of enthusiasm, and Mario really has never seen his boss like this. Ever. He looks, well, almost demonic. 

 

"Okay, I am going to pretend that you did not call him Matsi and tell you that actually, Mats' band is my band," Ann picks up, cringing slightly despite her best efforts not to.

 

"You're going to be playing here on Thursdays?" Montana all but yells, managing to escape Benni's grip and leaning against the bar.

 

"Looks like it," Ann nods, smiling widely at her friend. "Wait," Ann stops suddenly, turning to look at Benni. "How do you know Mats?"

 

"Oh," Benni sputters, turning an alarming shade of red and letting go of Mario, taking a few steps back. "We, um, we go way--way back," he manages to get out, his complexion starting to worry Mario. "Is that the phone ringing? I have to go answer the phone," he adds before nearly tripping in his haste to get out of there. "It was nice meeting you, Ann."

 

"Likewise!"

 

"That was weird," Mario comments, staring after his boss with his eyebrows knitted together, "even by Benni standards." 

 

"It was," Montana agrees, eyeing Benni's spot for a moment before handing a guy to André's left his drink. "Especially considering we don't actually have a phone. Anyway, Mario, we need to load some of the boxes because we're running out of nearly everything."

 

"Okay, well, one of us has to man the bar, so you stay here and I'll-"

 

"No, no," Montana argues, raising her arms in an effort to get Mario to stay where he is and taking a few steps back. "This is my only excuse to smoke without having to take a break, so you're definitely manning the bar."

 

"I can help you," André says out of nowhere, his voice unusually high, and Mario's kinda impressed that he managed to come up with that on his own, "that is if- um, if, you know, you want--need my help," he sputters the end of his sentence, and Mario and Thomas share a look. 

 

Montana stops in her tracks for a second, turning to peer suspiciously at André. She's got a soft spot for their awkward new roommate, Mario can tell, but she won't admit it to anyone, least of all to herself. 

 

"Sure," she concedes finally, smiling hesitantly even through the small frown shaping her features, before disappearing in the back room. 

 

André trips about six times as he follows her in, looking slightly dazed with his cheeks on fire.

 

"Alright boys," Ann starts after the two disappear, turning her attention to Mario and Thomas. "How do we make my best friend get her head out of her ass and admit to herself that she's got a thing for that pale roommate of yours?"

 

* * *

 

"I can't believe you don't want to go out on your night off," Thomas groans, throwing himself into the empty seat on the couch to Mario's right and handing him and Thiago a beer each. 

 

"Spare me the lecture, Mülli," Mario dismisses, eyes focused on his television screen as he takes a sip of his drink. "I'm literally out every night for work, so when I'm off, I'd much rather spend the night in, especially when Bayern are about to crush Dortmund. Besides, I don't get to see Thiago all that much and I miss him."

 

"Dude, he literally lives across the hall," Thomas argues and Thiago chuckles next to Mario, eyes fixated on the screen. Thiago's not a talker, and that's probably Mario's favourite part about their neighbour. That and the fact that he roots for Bayern. 

 

"Yes and I still don't get to see him as often as I’d like. Now shut it and let me watch Dortmund lose. The game's about to start."

 

"I still don't understand your hate for Dortmund," Thomas remarks offhandedly, completely ignoring Mario's request for silence. "Like, I'm Bavarian to the core, but you played for them for fuck's sake, how can you hate them so much?"

 

"I played for their youth team, Mülli. It doesn't count. And I don't know why I hate them. I just do."

 

He sounds angrier than he means to, but he can't help it. Memories of Dortmund bring out the worst in him. And it's not even Dortmund itself, but more like the people in it. 

 

It's his parents who forever butchered his dream of becoming a pro footballer the day they pulled him out of the Dortmund youth club because they didn't think football was an appropriate career choice. His parents who did everything in their power to keep him away from it, until he couldn't even think about football without feeling sick. 

 

It's his brother Fabian who knew exactly how good Mario was with a ball at his feet and who didn't bat an eye when their parents brushed over it. The same brother Mario supported through and through when he decided to drop out of college to open a sports equipment shop. Mario gets it, it couldn't have been fun to watch your younger brother become what you've always dreamed of becoming but lacked the talent to. But still. Mario expected more of him. 

 

The only person Mario regrets walking out on is Felix, and he makes sure to let him know how much he misses him every time he calls him. Felix tells him he wants to do the same. That he wants to leave home as soon as he turns eighteen and follow Mario to Munich. Mario doesn't have the heart to tell him his glorious bartending career isn't all it's cracked up to be, so for now, he'll let him dream. After all, he'd be a hypocrite not to allow his brother the same freedom he was never allowed. 

 

Mario's eyes focus on the television in front of him again, and he finally registers the men running in black and yellow on the screen. He doesn't really hate Dortmund. He's got a deep-rooted love for the team in red, but he's not sure he'd be completely devastated if Kagawa were to score a goal today. He won't admit it to anyone, though. Least of all himself.

 

Bayern end up losing by one goal, and Thomas' only consolation is that there's still the home fixture to be played. 

 

"Hey, so, where's André anyway?" Thiago asks as he makes his way off the couch to take some of the empty beer bottles to the kitchen.

 

"Pub, probably. The prospect of sitting on an uncomfortable stool and staring awkwardly at Montana seemed a lot more exciting than watching Bayern and Dortmund face off," Mario shrugs, fluffing the pillow left on Thiago's empty seat and lying down until he's horizontal on the couch, his socked feet propped up in Thomas' lap.

 

"Speaking of which," Thomas mumbles as he watches replays of the three goals on television, "Thiago, you're gonna be there for that band's gig at Benni's tomorrow, right?"

 

"Yep," Thiago confirms, nodding as he continues taking some dirty dishes to the kitchen. That is another part of why Mario loves Thiago. He is the cleanest of all his roommates. And yes, he's aware he's not his roommate, but that doesn't mean that he's not the cleanest of them all, and that certainly doesn't make Mario like him any less. "Benni talked my ear off about his old friend from Dortmund who's gonna be doing a weekly gig at the pub. I think he was a breath away from making me sign a commitment contract to make sure I'll be there for they debut."

 

"Sounds like Benni," Thomas mumbles, finally giving up on the television and turning it off.

 

"They're from Dortmund?" Mario asks from his perch on the couch, staring at his socked feet in Thomas' lap.

 

"Two of them are," Thiago tells him. "Mats and this other guy in the band. I can't remember his name. Mostly because I was actually trying to tune your boss out and drink in peace. But I did gather that the girls in the band are both from here."

 

"You've already met Ann when she visited Montana here last week," Mario adds as Thiago starts to make his way to the door. "I think we're gonna be seeing a lot more of her." 

 

"Yep," Thiago nods. "It could be worse, I suppose. She's loud, but the girl's got jokes. Anyway, I'm gonna call it a night. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

 

"See you, Thiago."

 

"Bye neighbour," Thomas adds, waving their friend off from his spot on the couch. "Hey," he turns suddenly to look at Mario, "so, I saw the other girl in the band. Lisa."

 

"What?" Mario asks, furrowing his brow. "When?"

 

"She came here yesterday with Ann and Montana. You were at the pub.”

 

"Okay," Mario says, nodding lightly and waiting for Thomas to elaborate.

 

"She’s… weird,” Thomas continues, hesitating for a moment. “She doesn’t really talk, and she barely looked at me when she was here. But…” He trails off, burying his face in his collar for a second and peering at Mario.

 

“But what?”

 

“There’s something about her,” Thomas adds, and Mario raises his eyebrows at him, smiling lightly. He never pegged Thomas for a hopeless romantic. “I’m thinking about asking her out.”

 

"Thomas,” Mario tries to reason, unable to keep the smile off his face. It’s kind of cute, really. “You said you guys didn’t talk. She could be married. A psychopath. Not into guys," he argues, nudging Thomas with his toe. He’s the only sane one in this house, so he might as well make sure Thomas is aware of what he’s getting himself into.

 

"She could be. But I’ll never know if I don’t ask her, will I?" Thomas asks pointedly, daring Mario to argue.

 

“Fair enough,” Mario concedes. “But just so you know, if she is a psychopath, you’re moving out.”

 

“She’s already been here with Montana,” Thomas argues, pushing Mario’s feet off his lap and getting up. “So far, you’re one of two people she doesn’t know live here, so if anything, _you_ should think about moving out,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows at Mario before disappearing around the corner leading to their bedrooms.

 

“Ugh,” Mario groans, hiding his face with a pillow and debating whether or not to kill his roommates. “I must’ve been Jack the Ripper in my past life to deserve this.”

 

* * *

 

Falling asleep that night doesn't prove to be the easiest thing on the menu, and Mario spends half of it tossing and turning in bed in an inexplicable bout of jitters. He gives up on trying when Montana finds her way into his room as soon as she and André make it home. 

 

She shuts the door behind her, groaning to no one in particular as she kicks off her shoes and nudges Mario with her knee until he's made more than enough space for her in bed.

 

"You have got to get him off my back, Mario," she mutters, sighing with an air of frustration and sinking further into the mattress. 

 

"He's been in Munich for only a few months, Monty," Mario reasons pathetically, needing no further explanation regarding the subject of this particular conversation. After all, it's not the first time they've broached it. "He doesn't know that many people."

 

"So introduce him to other people," she shoots back immediately, closing her eyes as she sighs once again. "There was this really hot guy at the pub tonight, totally my type. And I could've gone home with him. I could've had amazing sex tonight if I wasn't worried about leaving André to find his way back home alone."

 

"He's new in town, but he's not five, Montana," Mario laughs her off, turning on his side until he's looking straight at her. "He can make it home alone."

 

"No, he can't."

 

"Yes," Mario interrupts, his voice firm and steady, "he can." It's his turn to sigh now before he continues. "Look, Monty, maybe it's not his wellbeing that you were actually worried about. Maybe you care about his feelings."

 

"Oh, no no no," Montana's quick to object, and Mario winces at the high tone. "I don't do the F word and you know that."

 

"Alright," Mario concedes. "So there's nothing to talk about," he mumbles, poking Montana's arm repeatedly. His finger keeps hitting the same spot on Anri's head, and it's a lot more amusing for him than it probably needs to be. Say what you want about Montana, her tattoos are hella fun. "I'm trying to get some sleep."

 

"No, you're not. You were tossing and turning in bed again." 

 

"Okay, so what if I was," he groans for a second, before smiling despite himself when Montana turns to look at him, her dark lips a stark contrast to those pearly whites she's flashing him. "But you really should stop complaining. Your type is the absolute worse, so André probably saved you from going home with a jerk who has a really tiny wiener. You should thank him for it." 

 

"Shut up," Montana says through her chuckle, hitting Mario lightly in the shoulder. 

 

"Or maybe next time remember that André is a grown man who can find his way home unharmed even when left alone to fend for himself. So if that's what you're worried about, then go home with the guy from the pub. Or girl. You know, whichever one you're feeling up to on that particular day."

 

"Okay, that's a lot of talking for someone who's supposedly trying to sleep," Montana comments, trying to steer the heat off her as she starts uncovering herself. 

 

"Yeah, well, I’ve learned that the only sure way of getting you out of my bed is to make you uncomfortable with a lot of words," Mario shrugs before he flashes her his best shit-eating grin. 

 

"Dickhead," she mutters, kicking him once she's finally off the bed.

 

Mario doesn't even have the energy to pretend it hurts, too busy chuckling. "I've been called worse."

 

"I'm sure you have." She turns to smile at him one last time when she's in front of his door. "Night, pumpkin."

 

"Night, Monty. See you in the morning." 

 

* * *

 

He does manage a few hours of sleep eventually, sometime after six in the morning. He knows the time because the last thing he remembers before passing out is the sound of the front door closing after André and Thomas leave.

 

He doesn't know how they do it. Spend their time at their respective universities during the day and still manage to make an appearance at the pub nearly every night. It's not like they're in classes all day, but still. 

 

Thomas finally earned his vet practicing license a few months ago, and now he wakes up at dawn every morning to visit the stable to check on his horses. He usually has to report back to the university's medical centre after his visits to analyse the medical charts and follow their progress and a whole lot of shit Mario doesn't get. What Mario's most confused about, however, is the need for Thomas to report back to anyone. The boy knows more about horses than anyone he's met in his entire life, so people should probably report back to him with their charts, in Mario's humble opinion.

 

André, on the other hand, wakes up at the crack of dawn to go stargazing. Literally. He's doing astrology or astronomy or something that's going to make him the next Neil Armstrong, so he disappears at odd hours of the day to do research about this one star he's been observing. He tried to explain it to Mario once, but there were too many technical words for Mario to follow. Plus, he was too busy attacking a double chocolate muffin at the time to really concentrate on anything André was telling him.

 

In the end, it's Montana who wakes him up, expertly getting him out of bed with the promise of coffee and buttered pretzels.

 

They spend the day together, taking the time to pick out curtains and new sheets for both their rooms - upon Montana's insistence - and Mario finally manages to convince her to allow them to actually enjoy their day around lunchtime. They grab some sandwiches instead and spend time in the Englischer Garten the entire afternoon. It feels great to be able to just sit there for a few hours and do nothing. Plus, the weather, while unseasonably hot for this time of the year, is a welcome blessing.

 

They finally set out for the bar around six, dropping their purchases in their apartment first and then heading to Benni's. Their shifts don't start until seven, but they did promise Ann they'd be there in time for sound check.

 

Ann nearly mauls them as soon as they set foot in the joint, but all her enthusiasm and ridiculously voluminous hair is not enough to keep Mario from noticing the messy head of black curls flirting with his boss on the other side of the bar. 

 

"Oh," Ann says flatly, following Mario's line of sight and noticing what he's looking at. "That. Yeah, they've been at it since we got here," she mumbles, grimacing to herself. "It was cute at first, but now it's become slightly nauseating. It doesn't help that Marco and Lisa have not made it yet. The longer they take, the harder Mats is gonna try to eye-fuck your boss."

 

Mario makes a sound between a burp and a sigh, the idea of having to put up with this every Thursday from now on not a happy one. 

 

"Ew, Ann," Montana groans, squeezing her eyes and shrugging off her coat. "I did not need that mental image."

 

"Yes, well, at least for you it's a mental image only. I now have it engraved in my retinas."

 

She winces, closing her eyes and shaking her head like she’s trying to rid herself of a particularly disturbing memory, and Mario doesn’t doubt that she is. Montana smiles fondly at her friend.

 

"So sound check hasn't started yet?" Montana double checks as Mario takes his coat off and throws it behind the bar. Ann only shakes her head, twisting her hair petulantly around her fingers. "Awesome. Gives us enough time for a cigarette break before our shifts officially start."

 

"Ugh, M. You have got to give up that habit." It's fun to watch Montana pull out her wrinkled pack from her jean pocket like Ann said absolutely nothing. "And what are you taking a break from anyway, you just got here."

 

"And I'm gonna be stuck here for another five hours watching college kids molest each other and make pseudo-art," Montana huffs, only nodding her head at Benni and his friend before making her way behind the bar and towards the back door. "I'm gonna need a head start on my breaks."

 

Mario follows Montana and Ann silently, eyes still fixed on Benni. He's nearly made it safely behind the bar when Benni finally notices him, seemingly waking up from his stupor and straightening up.

 

"Mario!" He nearly roars his name, like it's so out of the ordinary to see Mario here. "You're very early!"

 

"Not really, boss," Mario says, shrugging his shoulder lightly and flashing him an unsure smile. Benni looks like he's been hit with an unnaturally large pan and Mario has to admit, it's slightly amusing. "My shift starts in ten minutes."

 

"What?" Benni asks, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. "Have we really been talking for over an hour?" He asks, turning his attention to the other guy.

 

"Yes, we have," the head of dark curls tells him, flashing him a dazzling smile, and yeah, he's nowhere near Mario's type, but damn if Mr. Dark Curls isn't built like fucking Hercules. "I'm Mats," he says, turning his attention to Mario, extending a hand to him and positively beaming at him. Never in his life had Mario understood the expression "to charm one's socks off" until that very moment. His socks were threatening to pull out at any given minute. 

 

"Mario," he finally manages to remember his name, shaking Mats' hand and walking a few steps backwards. "I'll be back in a bit," he adds, before disappearing behind Montana and Ann.

 

The pub is a little more crowded when they make it back in, but Mario can't be bothered to look at anyone. It already feels like it's going to be a long night and sound check hasn't even started. 

 

Montana disappears somewhere in the back room, stocking up on some drinks, while Ann joins Mats and Benni by the stage. Mario busies himself with the bar, towel drying some pints and arranging his bottles the way he likes them. He's shining the surface when his eyes start wandering over to where the band's set up their instruments. There's already too many people there, Mats and another girl Mario assumes is Lisa, her long, pin-straight, light brown hair the only pop of colour in her black attire. A boy with a contagious laugh and gravity-defying hair stands a little to the left of the stage, talking animatedly to a kid who seems younger than the rest of them, and who looks both murderous and ecstatic all at once.

 

It's only when the drums start to play that Mario finally turns his attention to the stage again, his eyes finding the blond figure seated behind the rows of percussions. He doesn't really register the familiarity of it all for a second, the perfected hair and the tattoos swirling against pale skin. He continues to look around, moving his gaze to where Ann is fine-tuning her guitar, before it finally clicks. He turns his attention back to the drummer so fast, he hears a painful crick in his neck.

 

Sitting only a few meters from Mario, perched happily in front of his set of drums, eyes fixated on Mario and crooked grin on full display, is none other than Marco. 

 

 _Fuck_.

 

* * *

 

It's not like Mario means to run. It's just that when his eyes meet Marco's, his feet move of their own accord. The lazy grin on the boy's face coupled with the sudden heat that overtakes Mario drive him to disappear through the back door so fast, he actually believes for a second that he might have caught fire somehow. It's not exactly unheard of. People suddenly catch fire all the time. Just ask Katniss Everdeen. 

 

He's leaning against the wall of the storage room, breathing heavily, his heart beating alarmingly fast when someone comes in. And not just anyone. 

 

 _Of fucking course_.

 

"Hi," Marco says, that damn crooked grin making an appearance as soon as his eyes land on Mario. 

 

Is this Mario's punishment for replacing the shampoo he's been using for the past eight years with a different one? Shampoo loyalty is real and should be treated with the respect it deserves. In his defence, the amount of hair he was losing was scarily high, he nearly believed he had a bald patch every time he looked at the drain in his shower and had trouble finding the holes. And not to mention, while he's aware it's his hair, drains are disgusting to clean. But it does make sense. The shampoo gods have rallied against him and sent him a curse in the form of a cute boy named Marco, erm, something. He doesn't exactly know his family name yet. He wants to punch his traitorous little mind for that "yet" it added at the end of the sentence. Because he doesn't plan on finding out his last name, ever. He'll just call him Marco. Like Cher. Or Madonna. Or Pluto.

 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to end up here," Marco mumbles, waving his hand awkwardly and effectively snapping Mario out of his shampoo-induced crisis. 

 

"Well, you're not supposed to be back here," he finally manages to get out, his words harsher than he intends them to be, the tips of his ears blushing. "Can I help you with something?"

 

"Oh," Marco balks, that infuriating smirk disappearing off his face like he just realized something. It's unnerving that Mario suddenly wants to say or do whatever it takes to see it again. "You don't remem- uh, that night, you-- sorry," he stammers, taking a few steps back. "I'm, um, actually allowed to be here. I'm the drummer from the band who's playing tonight, and Benni said we can go out here if we need a break and don't feel like standing outside." Mario just stares blankly at him, unable to say anything, because his mind has just processed that if this gig is a hit tonight, then Marco's going to be here every Thursday from now. He doesn't know how he feels about it. "Sorry, I was just, I'm, looking for the bathroom and I got lost."

 

"To the left of the main door," Mario tells him straight away, voice still unnaturally cold, and he doesn't even understand why he's acting like this.

 

"Thanks," Marco mumbles, taking another few steps back. He looks up when he's halfway out the door, hand resting on the frame. "Hey, um, so, you don't remember that, uh, night, right." 

 

Mario's not even sure it's a question. 

 

_Yes I do. In very vivid detail for someone who was that drunk._

 

"What?" Mario asks, knitting his eyebrows together. He is completely unprepared for these kinds of situations so he'll feign ignorance until he's dug his way out of this one safely.

 

Mario doesn't really know Marco, so he can't exactly tell what he's feeling just by looking at him. But if he were to take a guess at it, then he'd put big money on disappointed. 

 

"That's what I thought," the boy finally tells him, smiling sadly for a moment before straightening up. "I'll leave you to it," he mutters before finally disappearing out the door. 

 

Mario has never hated himself more.

 

* * *

 

He's left standing in the room alone for less than two minutes when Marco's head pops back in. 

 

"Hey, so, we've met before," he starts talking very quickly, a little jumpy but with a new confidence, "and um, I can tell you probably don't remember-"

 

"I remember," Mario interrupts before Marco can get another word, nodding his head a little too vigorously. 

 

"Oh," Marco halts, eyes widening. "You rem-"

 

"Mario? Is that you?" Montana's voice echoes in the room suddenly, followed by her footsteps as she makes her way up the stairs. 

 

Right. She's in the storage room getting some beer.

 

Mario stares at Marco for a second longer before his mind catches up and he walks over to meet Montana at the top of the stairs, relieving her of the box she's struggling with.

 

"Thanks," she says gratefully, stretching her sore arms. Mario has to admit to himself, as he lowers the beer to the ground, that it is a damn heavy box. "Marco? Is that you?" She asks after a minute, and Mario nearly falls in his haste to look up at Montana and then at Marco near the entrance.

 

Montana _knows_ Marco?

 

"Montana?" Marco's voice comes from behind Mario, and then before he knows it, the two meet in the middle of the room, hugging like old friends. 

 

"Oh my god!" Montana laughs, her arms around the boy. There's something comforting about their hug, Mario thinks, something that makes him smile despite himself. "What are you doing here?"

 

"My band’s playing here tonight," Marco explains, pulling back a little bit, keeping his hands on Montana's shoulders. "You look good."

 

"Wait? You're the Marco from Ann's band? You and Ann actually like eachother now?" She laughs brightly, ruffling his hair a little. "And I look good? Look at you, with that ridiculous hair!"

 

Marco laughs heartily, his eyes nearly disappearing in his face. 

 

"Like is a strong word," he admits.

 

"God, I can't believe it's you," she tells him again, affection evident in her voice as she pulls him in for another hug. 

 

Mario almost feels like he's intruding on something now, and he tries to make his way out of the room quietly. Of course, quiet was never Mario's strong suit, so he ends up bumping into half a dozen boxes on the way, effectively reminding the two of his presence.

 

"Mario!" Montana exclaims like she just remembered him, smiling at him now. "You know Marco?"

 

"We met in some club a few weeks ago," Marco explains, his crooked grin making another appearance, and Mario's ashamed to admit it does something to him. 

 

"Just that once," Mario's quick to clarify like the little piece of shit that he is. "So we don't _really_ know eachother. We met the last time you dragged me out to celebrate your ‘birthday’.”

 

"You were at my birthday party?!" Montana screams, and both Marco and Mario wince. "How did I not see you?"

 

“It was not really your birthday,” Mario mutters to himself, rolling his eyes.

 

"I was, um, rather busy," Marco picks up hesitantly, turning to look at Mario who blushes furiously right on cue.

 

"So, how do you two know eachother exactly?" Mario asks, trying to steer the conversation in another direction. 

 

"We used to be neighbours when Marco first moved to Munich," Montana explains, smiling widely at the two boys. "Dated for like a week and a half. It's a miracle that disaster didn't have lasting effects on the human race." 

 

"I'm bi," Marco's quick to say when Mario's eyes squint a little. 

 

"Yes, he is," Montana confirms, smiling fondly at him. "His only requirement is hair on your head. After that, he's easy enough."

 

"Oh, yeah, he's easy alright," Mario says before he can stop himself, his eyes widening when Marco barks a laugh.

 

Montana looks between the two of them, her eyes narrowing and her brow furrowing like she's catching on to something. 

 

Mario doesn't stick around to watch her figure it out, lowering down to pick up the box Montana was carrying and nearly sprinting out of the room. 

 

* * *

 

 

"You never told me you met Marco!" Montana whisper-shouts at Mario as soon as she's back behind the bar with him.

 

"I told you I met someone the day after we went out," Mario tells her, flushing lightly. Montana is not going to give up before she gets the full story, so he's just going to have to power through. "How was I to know you knew him? We were at your party and you didn’t even acknowledge him."

 

"I didn't know he was there!" Montana objects. "And you didn't tell me you brought him home."

 

"I didn't bring him home," Mario counters, serving some patrons at the end of the bar their drinks. "We went back to his place."

 

"And?"

 

"And nothing," Mario groans. "We slept together once, and that's that. Sure, it sucks that he's your friend and that I'm gonna have to see him on a weekly basis, but if he's half as great as you clearly think he is, then it won't have to be so awkward."

 

"So you don't like him?" Montana asks, straight to the point.

 

Mario sighs for a long moment, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He's developing a massive headache, which comes as no surprise at all. 

 

"Monty, I don't do relationships. You know that."

 

"That doesn't answer my question."

 

"Yes, it does," Mario says with finality. 

 

This is not a conversation he wants to keep having. And he's banking on Montana knowing him well enough not to push it. 

 

"Okay," she concedes, moving over to plant a kiss on his cheek before going over to serve some people who just sat by the bar.

 

* * *

 

He goes about doing his job after that, promising himself not to let Marco's presence perturb him. This is going to be a regular thing if tonight goes as well as Benni hopes, so Mario better start getting used to it. 

 

He's mixing up some drinks for some customers a few minutes later when the guy with the funny hair plops himself onto a stool right in front of Mario, along with another two guys. 

 

"Hi," funny hair says, toothy grin showing his front gap and Mario can't help but smile back. He's never seen anyone smile so wide at him.

 

"Hello," Mario says, turning to look at the other two. He recognizes the guy he noticed before, the kid who looked angry at the entire world except the boy with the funny hair standing in front of him. There’s a crease between his eyes that Mario wants to smooth out so badly, but wouldn’t that be the most awkward thing Mario has done so far tonight. The other guy is one he hadn't seen until this point, dark skinned with soft features except for his wide nose, and rusted tips on his head. "Can I get you guys anything?"

 

"Dunkel for me, please," the guy with the tips tells him. "Lager for them. And any spare shots you have lying around, if I'm going to deal with Mats' wailing for another two hours."

 

Mario chuckles lightly, warming up to them already. Even Anger Management, who looks like he's experiencing his first time at a pub. With his babysitters.

 

"You guys friends with the band?" Mario asks, nodding at them their drinks. 

 

"Marco's roommates," funny hair explains. "Well, at least me and Jo are," he amends, pointing at Fury. "I'm Pierre-Emerick, but you can call me Auba. Jo and David," he adds, pointing to the other two.

 

"Auba?" Mario asks, knitting his eyebrows together as he holds out a bottle of tequila in one hand and some shot glasses in the other. He shakes them in front of David until he grabs the boy's attention, and when the latter nods with a smile, Mario goes about filling the glasses. 

 

"Short for Aubameyang," Auba explains. "Which is my last name. My first name is kind of a mouthful and also apparently too French for you Germans." He snorts loudly, rolling his eyes before he looks back at Mario. “Because Mönchengladbach is such an easy word.” 

 

Mario chuckles again, handing them the shots. David smiles at him, raising it in the air before downing it like a man on a mission. 

 

"Well, they're right. It is too long and way too French," he reasons, earning himself another smile from Auba. "I'm Mario."

 

"Nice to meet you, bro," Auba tells him, extending a fist that Mario bumps with his own. Jo only offers him a hesitant smile, somehow still looking like he’s in pain, and Mario can’t help but feel himself soften.  

 

"So, have you met the band yet?" David asks him conversationally, as Mario fills him another shot.

 

Mario looks up suddenly at that, his eyes unconsciously finding Marco on the stage. He shakes his head a little, trying to clear his cluttered thoughts. He finally notices David's eyes on him, smile friendly if a little confused, and Mario realizes the man is expecting an answer. 

 

"I know Ann through my friend Montana," he finally tells him, handing him the shot glass and a slice of lemon. "And I met Mats briefly when I got here today. And, um," he hesitates for a moment, his eyes turning to look at Marco once more, "Marco, too. I met him once before," he says vaguely, hoping no one will drill him on it.

 

"So the only one you haven't met is Lisa?" Jo asks, speaking for the first time. His voice is different than what Mario expects, a little louder, a little deeper. But Mario decides this kid is already his favourite, simply for steering the subject away so quickly.

 

"Yeah," Mario nods. 

 

"Lisa's nice," David tells him. "We went to school together and have been friends since we were like two."

 

"She takes a while to warm up to, though," Auba warns him, taking a sip of his beer. "Like, a long while. Unless you're a horse. Then she'll love you even before you meet her."

 

"Sounds a lot like my friend Thomas," Mario mutters, turning to look at the only girl on stage he doesn't know. She's pretty, in an unconventional way, and if she's as into horses as Auba claims she is, then maybe Thomas might actually manage to get her to go out with him.

 

"Anyway, once you do warm up to her, she'll be your friend for life," David continues. 

 

Sounds _a lot_ like Thomas. 

 

Mario hasn't even finished his inner musing when Thomas and André appear seemingly out of thin air, plopping down on two empty stools right next to David, making themselves right at home.

 

_Speak of the devil._

 

"Did we miss it?" André asks, shrugging off his jacket and trying to catch his breath. 

 

"Did you guys run here?" Mario asks, not bothering to answer the question and raising his eyebrows at his friends. 

 

"No," André shrugs, his cheeks unnaturally red.

 

"Yes," Thomas says at the same time, causing Auba, David and Jo to chuckle. "Didn't want to miss the band's first performance."

 

Mario really doesn't get it. Why everyone's making such a big deal out of this. But the place is filling up nicely and Benni looks happy, so he's definitely not about to complain. 

 

"Thiago will be here soon," André says, flushing an even more concerning shade of red. "Can you get me a beer?" He finally straightens up long enough on the stool to look at the guys next to him. "Hey," he says after a while, pointing at Auba. "Didn’t we have a class together last semester?"

 

"Advanced English," Auba recalls, nodding at André with a smile. "It's nice to see you again..."

 

"André," he pipes in, smiling back.

 

"Right," Mario quips when he finally realizes they don't know actually know eachother. Hell, ten minutes ago, even he didn't know them. "Guys, this is Auba, Jo and David. They're friends with the band. André, Thomas. My roommates," he introduces, pointing at each one of them on queue before moving to serve a guy nearby.

 

"Good, you've all met," Ann's voice comes from a bit further away, and Mario looks up to see her and Montana coming up to them. 

 

Marco's walking slowly up to the bar behind them, white T-shirt already clinging to his body, sleeves rolled up and v-neck showing a thin silver chain that disappears under the shirt. Dog tags, Mario's suddenly hyper-active memory provides for him. He remembers pulling Marco by his dog tags to meet his lips. 

 

"Sound check all done?" Auba asks, turning on his stool to look at his friends and pulling Mario out of his trailing thoughts.

 

"Yep," Ann nods, smiling at him.

 

"Mario," Marco says, his voice a little unsure, and the boy in question looks up to meet his eyes. There's something about the way Mario's name rolls off his tongue.

 

_No, there's not. He says your name just like everyone in the world says it. Get your shit together, Götze._

 

"Yeah?" Mario nearly gurgles, trying to quiet his screaming thoughts, his voice a little hoarser than he'd like.

 

"Can I get a beer?" Marco asks, flashing Mario a grin, and it somehow gets him to relax. It's crooked and toothy and contagious and Mario nods as he smiles back and moves to grab him a bottle. He hands him the Dunkel without even thinking about it, fingers meeting for a long second. Marco raises a pair of knowing eyebrows at him.

 

Fuck. He even remembers what kind of beer he prefers.

 

“I’m a bartender,” Mario mutters for Marco’s benefit, earning a laugh out of him, and he smiles despite himself. “I remember drinks for a living.”

 

"Hi Montana," André mutters shyly as the girl rounds the bar to stand next to Mario, fidgeting in his seat.

 

Montana doesn't say anything back, waving André off dismissively as she moves to take a couple of girls' orders. Ann stands alert, surveying the awkward exchange in front of her, and her eyes are still as freakishly observant when Montana comes back and starts fixing up two cocktails.

 

"Hey André," Ann says after a moment, scooting past Marco and closer to the boy in question before placing her fingers delicately on his shoulder. Mario grins to himself, fully aware Ann is up to something. Marco seems to be on the same page as Mario, smiling devilishly as he moves aside to allow Ann to make herself at home with André.

 

"Hi Ann-Kathrin," André says just as shyly as before, gulping audibly and trying not to gape openly at Ann's very exposed cleavage. 

 

"You look very nice," Ann drawls, hooking one finger into André's shirt collar before pulling back. "I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to meet the rest of the band. And some of our other friends. Plenty of nice girls," she muses, twisting her hair around her finger. 

 

"I- um, don't-," André stammers, throwing a quick glance at Montana. She's still busy making the drinks, her eyes fixated on the lemon she's currently slicing. "Sure," he agrees finally, sighing as he gets off the chair and lets himself be guided by Ann.

 

"Do you need help with that?" Mario whispers to Montana when he notices her hands shaking more than usual. Whatever Ann's plan is, it's clearly working. 

 

"Ouch!" Montana screams as if on cue, the knife breaking through the skin. She brings her bloody finger to her mouth, sucking a little too forcefully, staining her lip ring in her haste. Her eyes look angry. "I'm fine," she eventually barks, wrapping her finger with a wash cloth and taking the drinks to the other side of the bar. 

 

Mario hasn't even had time to process any of it when Thiago plops himself on the seat just vacated by André, throwing his keys and phone on the bar in front of him. 

 

"Tell me I missed at least some of it," Thiago begs, smiling fondly at Mario as he takes off his coat and hands it to him over the bar.

 

"Not a single second," David mutters next to him, and Thiago turns to look at him. They smile at eachother at the same time.

 

"You know, the drummer is standing right behind you," Marco says, his eyebrows raised amusedly, interrupting Thiago and David's little moment. David groans as he and Thiago turn to look at Marco at the same time. "You're insulting my band."

 

"Somehow I think you'll survive," Thiago throws at him, shit-eating grin on full display as Marco chuckles. Mario wants to punch himself in the face when he can't keep the abnormally large smile off it. "Thiago," he adds, extending a hand towards him.

 

"Marco," the blond says, shaking Thiago's hand and then turning to bump his fist with Thomas who introduces himself as well.

 

"Thiago, my neighbour," Mario picks up, pointing vaguely at the Spaniard. "David, Auba and Jo. Friends of his," he continues, pointing at Marco and their eyes meet again, grins still firmly in place.

 

"Nice to meet you guys," Thiago says in a friendly tone, raising the shot Mario places in front of him. 

 

"Always nice to meet a fellow Bayern fan," David returns, nodding his head at Thiago's _Mia San Mia_ keychain when the latter knits his eyebrows together. "Especially when I'm surrounded by Dortmund freaks the entire day," he continues, groaning and side-eyeing Auba and Marco. “Thank fuck Jo has some sense in him.”

 

"Let's not start this shit again," Marco warns, raising his eyebrows. 

 

"Dortmund are worth more than your precious FC Hollywood so you're not winning this," Auba pipes in, huffing when he’s done talking.

 

"Tell that to the current leaders of the table," Thiago shoots back with a sickeningly sweet smile, and David turns to him, clinking their glasses together. 

 

"Shut up, both your teams suck," Montana orders, playing with her lip ring, her eyes fixated somewhere next to the stage. Somewhere where Ann is standing uncomfortably close to André, clearly introducing him to the two blondes Montana served a few minutes before. "I'm going out for a break," she declares, throwing the cloth harshly on the bar and walking away from them.

 

"And who do you root for?" Auba shouts at her, before she's fully out of sight.

 

"Wolfsburg!" 

 

* * *

 

Montana looks visibly less upset when she re-emerges from the back a few minutes later, or at least that's the front she tries to show. Mario knows Montana through and through by now, knows all her quirks and all the ticks that make her into who she is. She probably literally shook the anger out of her system as she puffed on her cigarette, maybe punched a few empty beer cans before she made her way back in. 

 

It's not exactly the healthiest coping mechanism, but Mario's not one to judge here. A huge part of why he and Montana are such good friends is that one is as emotionally constipated as the other. That's according to Thomas, anyway, and Mario has no room to really argue that point. Feelings are not exactly their strong suit, so they'll just keep brushing them over to the curb until they either disappear completely or come back to bite them in the proverbial ass. 

 

Mario doesn't say anything to Montana, just keeps staring at her until she finally meets his gaze. He raises his eyebrows at her, his way of checking up on her. She just smiles at him in return, squeezing his hand with hers rather quickly before disappearing to take some people's orders.

 

"So, are you nervous at all?" Jo asks, turning to look at Marco.

 

Mario tries to act normal and composed, tries not to look as curious as he is about the answer, staring unflinchingly at the cup he's currently towel-drying. Despite his more than flagrant reluctance when it comes to Marco, there's a tiny part of him that is dying to get to know the boy.

 

"Kinda," Marco shrugs non-committedly. "We're not exactly playing the O2 here, but it's probably the biggest crowd I've faced."

 

It is a big crowd, Mario has to agree. He hasn't seen the pub so packed in all the days he's worked here. Well. Except on that night when Benni decided to offer free drinks to everyone. The place filled up nice and fast back then. 

 

"Nah, you'll do alright," Auba reassures, bumping his fist with Marco. The fist bump evolves into a complicated handshake and by the time Marco and Auba are saluting eachother, they've lost Mario entirely.

 

He's still busy watching the two friends interact when his ear stud somehow gives, tumbling down his chest, bumping on the counter and down on the floor, somewhere under the stools. It's Mario's favourite pair, the only thing of Fabian's he's ever kept.

 

Marco leans down to pick it up, and he doesn't have to look far, as it apparently lands right between his feet.

 

"Hey guys," Mats' voice is heard on the microphone somewhere in the back, cheers following his words, but Mario can't tear his eyes away from Marco. "We're going to be starting in a bit, we're just waiting for our darling drummer to finish flirting his way down the bar. Marco?"

 

Marco turns in his spot to look at the stage, waving at Mats for a second. He turns back to look at Mario again, then back at his palm to examine the black stud. Instead of returning it, however, Marco makes quick work of removing one of his own earrings, a black stud with a gray star on it, leans over his friends to drop it in Mario's open palm, and starts putting Mario's earring on. 

 

"For good luck," he tells him casually, smiling crookedly before leaning over Jo one more time to knock back his shot and disappearing in the throng of people. 

 

Mario can't even feel upset, is too stunned by what just happened to react properly, so he just clips Marco's stud onto his ear, smiling to himself as he fills up another order.

 

Thomas is looking at him with an unusually knowing smile on his face when he looks up, and Mario feels himself heat up despite his best efforts not to.

 

"What?" He eventually utters, feeling flushed and defensive and fuck, will Thomas never stop looking at him like this?

 

"Nothing, not a thing," Thomas singsongs innocently, scratching the back of his head, that amused smirk still on his face. "I didn't say a thing."

 

"Good," Mario states, clearing his throat in a casual fashion. "Because there's nothing to say."

 

"I'm sure."

 

* * *

 

As far as college bands go, Mario has to admit, it's not the worst he's listened to. He wouldn't actively chase their music if it were available for download, but he wouldn't change the channel on the radio if one of their songs popped up. And he has to admit, Marco is one hell of a drummer. Mario wants to tell himself it has nothing to do with his white T-shirt, soaked and clinging to his chest, or his rolled up sleeves and dog tags, or even that fucking hair, wild and wet and still so ridiculously on point that Mario wants to either run his fingers through it or gouge his eyeballs out. 

 

He can't exactly pinpoint Marco's band's style since they don’t actually sing any original songs, and the stuff they cover spans over everything from grunge to pop and rock. Even the name of the band, Edith, gives no lead to their musical style. Unless they play Downton-Abbey-inspired music, in which case the name makes a whole lot of sense. But, no, their set has zero period instrumental pieces and instead a whole lot of Gorillaz music, some Linkin Park, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and even some Portuguese shit Mario has never heard before.

 

Mats sings the mellow parts, owning the stage, his body sculpted like a fucking statue but with the voice of a dramatically tortured soul, which everyone seems especially crazy about, while Marco takes care of most of the rapping, and holy fuck if it isn't both ridiculous and arousing at the same time. Even Ann raps at one point, albeit much better than Marco, even though Mario cannot understand a word of the Portuguese she’s throwing around. At first, he actually thinks it’s Spanish, until he asks Thiago what she’s singing about and he gets smacked in the head so bad because "you little racist piece of shit, Spanish and Portuguese are not the same thing."

 

Auba jumps on the stage shortly after that, helping Marco hysterically perform "Hey Ya" by André 3000, possibly the highlight of Mario's evening. Auba is as crazy on stage as he seems in real life, and his flair of madness rubs off on Marco and everyone else in the band in the best way possible. It’s also both surprising and thrilling to watch Jo react the way he does to Auba’s performance, grin wide and proud, heart eyes plastered on his face for the entire room to see.

 

Point is, halfway through, Mario finds himself reluctantly enjoying the show. It has a lot to do with him having the best seat in the house, surrounded by his old and new friends, their good-natured ribbing of the band a constant source of amusement for Mario throughout the night. 

 

They're towards the end of the set when Benni rounds Mario and Montana in the back room, slipping some money in each of their hands. Mario looks at the folded bills in his hand, can make out at least two hundred Euro bills and a couple of twenties.

 

"What's this?" Montana asks before Mario has a chance to, but he manages to look up with his eyebrows raised for emphasis. 

 

"Your bonus for the night," Benni explains casually. "The place is packed and everyone had a drink in their hand at any given moment. And you guys look like you actually enjoyed yourselves. Your tips are yours, but this is an extra boost. If we keep this up, then your salaries are about to get a substantial raise."

 

Mario has always known Benni to be generous. He never checks their tips, always pays them right on time, and insists that their friends always get a hefty discount on their bills. Not to mention, he shuts down the pub for over a week for Christmas. Still, Mario can’t say he expected his to happen right now.

 

"Thanks, Benni," Mario says, smiling genuinely at his boss. 

 

"No problem kid," Benni smiles back. "As long as you don't spend it on alcohol," he comments, a walking public service announcement when he owns a fucking bar. "Alright, let's go back out," he continues after a moment. "I think the set is about to be over so people will be rushing for last call soon."

 

* * *

 

Mario finds himself congregating at the door with his friends about two hours later.

 

He doesn't really want to dwell on the fact that he's already calling them his friends when he doesn't actually know most of them. Montana comes out of the pub right in time to stop him from doing so. 

 

"So?" He asks her, his forehead creasing under his beanie. 

 

"He's insisting that we don't have to close up," Montana announces, handing Mario his jacket. "Says he'll do it with Mats."

 

"Well," Mario shrugs, happily taking the jacket and making quick work of putting it on. He's freezing and his scarf and gloves are not enough to keep him from the cold. "If that's how it's going to be whenever this Mats is around, then I sure hope he's around more often," he muses out loud. "Just as long as they don't hook up in front of me."

 

"They won't be hooking up. Period." Marco shrugs and Mario looks at him, his gaze lingering on the slight boy. He's got a long green parka hiding his red plaid shirt, a thick wool scarf wrapped around his neck and a beanie very similar to Mario's covering his blond hair. "Not according to Mats, anyway. They're supposedly only exes."

 

"Bullshit, if you ask me," Auba picks up, blowing on his fists to warm them up. 

 

"Bullshit, if you ask anyone," Montana mutters, eyeing André and Ann who are talking quietly a little further up the street. 

 

"Alright, I'm not particularly excited about freezing my extremities off," Thiago says, his breath fogging up in front of his face. "So can we please get out of here? Apparently David lives on the way to our building, so we're walking together." Big fucking surprise. "Anyone wants to join?"

 

"In," Auba and Jo both say at the same time, standing suspiciously close together. It’s cute, Mario decides, the way Auba seems particularly protective of the younger boy. It’s cute how Jo’s crease doesn’t disappear ever, but his smile is always a little wider around Auba. "We live on the same street as David," Auba's quick to add when Thiago furrows his brow. 

 

"André was nice enough to suggest walking me home," Ann announces, her sugary voice especially high as she turns to looks at Montana. "Anyone wants to join? Montana?"

 

For all her attempts to say fuck you to the world and pretend she doesn't care about anything, Mario has to admit he's never seen Montana caught so off guard. It's like she never considered for a second the possibility that André might want to bail on their usual walk home for something else. Mario's about ready to rescue her when Thomas jumps ahead of him.

 

"Actually, M is gonna go with me and Lisa," he says casually, throwing a quick glance at Mario and then turning to look at Ann. "We're walking Lisa home and then back to our apartment," he adds.

 

"Whatever," Lisa mutters under her breath next to him, her brow piercing glimmering against the still lit pub sign. She's barely spoken a word in the ten minutes they've been standing outside, so he's not exactly sure how Thomas got her to say yes to walking her home. 

 

"Right," Ann says, her voice still annoyingly perky. 

 

Mario turns to look at André, and he's not exactly surprised to find he doesn't look particularly thrilled. 

 

"Hey," Marco nearly whispers after clearing his throat, interrupting Mario's investigative work and successfully pulling him out of his thoughts. "I was hoping you and I could go somewhere and talk?"

 

"It's one in the morning," Mario says, his eyebrows disappearing further under his beanie, trying not to let Marco's sudden proximity throw him off his game. 

 

"There are plenty of coffee shops still open," Marco tells him, an amused smile taking hold of his face.

 

"I'm really tired, Marco," Mario tries to brush him off again, nowhere near ready for middle of the night with Marco. Well, not one that involves zero alcohol and a whole lot of conversation.

 

"Oh," Marco says, his face falling so suddenly, it actually worries Mario. The fact that he cares so much about Marco's mood worries him even more, but he has no control whatsoever over the words that come out of his mouth next.

 

"Okay, listen," he starts, sighing lightly, his hand unnecessarily - but very willingly - reaching out for Marco's sleeve before he can turn to go. "How about this. You live on the way," he says, nodding his head towards Auba, as if he only knows that fact because of what Auba told them earlier, and not because he's been actively avoiding Marco's street for the past several hundred weeks. "How about we walk together and we can talk?"

 

Mario barely has any time to take in Marco's re-emerging smile before Montana swings her arm around his shoulder. 

 

"We're gonna get going," she mumbles hurriedly in his ear, squeezing his shoulder before she lets go. "I'll see you at home. Night, Marco," she adds, letting go of Mario and standing on the tip of her boot-clad toes to give Marco a quick kiss, before following Thomas and Lisa across the street.

 

"We're gonna get going too," Ann tells them, waving to them as she and André walk a bit further ahead of them before disappearing around a corner. 

 

"Let's just all go before we freeze to fucking death," Thiago grumbles angrily, shivering a little as he and David start walking, closely followed by Auba and Jo.

 

"Shall we?" Marco asks after a moment, making sure there's enough distance between them and the rest of their group.

 

Mario only smiles hesitantly before sighing to himself and moving along. 

 

It's going to be a fucking long night.

 

* * *

 

They've been walking for a little over five minutes, the silence suffocating in the cold of the night, echoes of their friends' laughter the only conversation between them. Mario takes a closer look at his friends, trying to distract himself from this rather awkward post-midnight stroll. 

 

It's funny how quickly David and Thiago took to eachother. They haven't stopped talking since the minute they met, and Mario will experience very little surprise if he wakes up tomorrow and finds David in Thiago's apartment. 

 

"They seem to have hit it off well," Marco remarks offhandedly, a tiny smile playing on his lips. Mario wants to be mad that he essentially just read his mind, but he chalks it up to Thiago and David being noticeably chummy, their fingers linking together unconsciously - or maybe very consciously - as they cross the street in front of them.

 

"Yeah," Mario says unnecessarily, ducking his head for a moment as he tries to hide his nervousness. 

 

"Alright," Marco sighs to himself, his breath fogging up when Mario peers at him. "Look, I don't want to make this awkward," he says, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. His face is red under his beanie, his oversized scarf hiding almost all of it, and Mario kind of wants to kiss him. Repeatedly. A lot. "I like you."

 

The brashness of the confession is enough to shake Mario out of his momentary trance and make him forget how desperately he wants to kiss Marco. Well, almost.

 

"What?" He finally manages, laughing in disbelief. "How,- when did-- you don't even know me!" He stutters, his voice a little louder and much more surprised than he intends for it to be.

 

"I know enough," Marco replies hurriedly, and it pisses Mario off that he seems to have an answer for everything. 

 

Mario takes the time to really look at Marco, unable to keep a small smile from gracing his lips. It's sort of flattering, and he hasn't really felt this sort of anxiety in a while, this nervousness that screams high school crush. But he's also in no way on board with this. There's no getting too close to anyone, that much he's learned. His roommates have somehow crossed that barrier, but that doesn't mean he's not waiting for the day they'll inevitably fuck him over and hurt him. 

 

"Look, Marco," he says, sighing to himself as reality finally kicks in. "It's very sweet."

 

"Don't," Marco snaps before Mario can get another word in. "Don't act like it's a one-sided thing. I know you remember that night."

 

"I do," Mario admits, deciding on honesty, or rather having no control over the words coming out of his mouth. Something about the boy next to him makes him uncomfortable and very much not in control of his actions. "I remember that night very clearly. But," he continues, watching as Marco's smile starts to disappear when he seemingly lets it sink in that this is really not happening. "I don't do one night stands. And I do relationships even less."

 

"I'm not exactly asking you to marry me here," Marco mutters, stuffing his nose and his cheeks under his scarf, and Mario has a sinking suspicion it's to hide his blush.

 

"I know, I ju- yes, okay, maybe I do like you. But I just don't do this. So, let's, I don't know, be friends?" He tries, wincing at his own words. 

 

"Wow," Marco marvels next to him. "I just got friendzoned. Amazing."

 

"Yeah well," Mario shrugs next to him, happy to see a smile making its way back on Marco's face. The tension seems to be dissipating, something less awkward and more friendly settling in place. "There's a first time for everything. And that was a douchy thing to say."

 

"Well, I’m a douche and you’re an asshole," Marco mutters, chuckling lightly along with Mario. “We make quite the pair.”

 

Mario looks around for a second to distract himself from Marco’s eyes, and finally realizes they're already on his street. David and Thiago stop a few feet ahead of them, Auba and Jo taking a second to clap David on the back before continuing their walk. 

 

"That's David's building," Marco explains quietly, nodding lightly towards the apartment complex to their left. 

 

Thiago and David wave at them as they walk past, and Mario smiles widely at them. "It was nice meeting you!" He yells at David, genuine in his intentions.

 

"Yeah, same," David returns, his white teeth on display before he turns his attention back to the boy in front of him. 

 

There's something intimate about the way they're looking at eachother, and Mario finally ducks his head and focuses his attention on the road in front of him as they continue to make their way towards Marco's building.

 

"I'm fine with being friends," Marco says suddenly, meeting Mario's eyes when the latter flickers his gaze to him. "I mean it. Yeah, I thought we had a connection, but I can't force you to do anything you don't want to. So it's cool, if you wanna be just friends. We're going to be seeing a lot of eachother by the looks of it, and I better not make it awkward for us."

 

Mario can't really explain it. The sudden disappointment he feels at Marco's acceptance. It's what he wanted though, so he better shake himself out of his ridiculous thoughts and not make this situation any worse.

 

"Cool," he manages finally, hoping that sticking to monosyllabic words will have less chances of giving away his uncertainty. "That's good."

 

Marco stops walking, and when Mario looks up, he finally notices they're at his building. It's funny how grim Mario feels of a sudden, how much he doesn't want Marco and his crooked smile to disappear into the complex right now. He shouldn't be thinking like that, though. People will always disappoint you, so Mario better get his shit together and say goodbye to Marco.

 

"Yo," Auba comes up to them with Jo in tow, his wide smile on display as he extends a fist to Mario. "It was nice meeting you, bro."

 

Jo nods next to Auba.

 

"Yeah, likewise," Mario says, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he bumps his fist with Auba. "I'll see you guys next week," he adds, his gaze turning to Marco for a second before finding Jo again. 

 

"Yeah," the younger boy tells him, a small smile on his face as he and Auba start walking backwards before finally turning and disappearing into the entryway.

 

Marco stands in front of Mario for only a second longer, their eyes glued to one another, before he takes a few steps backwards, lifting his arm next to him and holding his palm up, waving quietly at Mario.  

 

"Bye," he whispers, lingering in his spot for a few seconds longer before he finally disappears inside the building, leaving Mario standing alone in the cold street, unsure if he's made the right decision or not. 

 

He's there for a few minutes before a hand claps him on the shoulder, and Mario nearly jumps out of his skin.

 

"Nice of you to wait for me," Thiago tells him as he starts walking slowly ahead of him, and Mario finally shakes himself out of it long enough to follow his Spanish friend.

 

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, turning to take one last look at Marco's building. He did the right thing. Saying okay to a date or whatever with this boy will only end up with him hurt. 

 

"Let's go home," Thiago says next to him, and Mario sighs as he tries to push blond hair and crooked smiles and swirling tattoos out of his thoughts.

 

"Yeah. Let's."

 

* * *

 

Mario tries not think about Marco the entire way home, which means he undoubtedly does nothing but that. It doesn't help that Thiago seems to be equally distracted, content to walk next to Mario in complete silence, the only sign he's still alive being the secret smile on his face. And the fact that he's walking.

 

In the end, Mario allows himself only that night to second-guess himself. Starting tomorrow, he decides as he walks into his building's elevator, there will be no thinking about Marco, no wondering if he made the right decision by blowing him off, no wanting to trace his tattoos with his fingers like he did on that night. Starting tomorrow, he will believe that he made the right decision, because he did.

 

Thiago only pats him on the back when they're on their floor, whispering a dreamy good night before going into his apartment. 

 

Thomas and Montana are already on the living room couch when Mario enters his house, nursing a bottle of something that looks suspiciously like alcohol between them. 

 

"How the hell did you make it home before me?" Mario asks as he throws his keys on the table by the door, shrugging off his jacket and unwrapping his scarf from around his neck before throwing himself on the couch between his two friends.

 

"Turns out Lisa's house is literally across the street from the pub," Montana mutters as she takes a sip of the clear liquor and hands Mario the bottle. He only stares at it for a moment before taking a large gulp, grimacing as the taste of vodka hits the back of his throat, tart and disgusting and unlike anything Mario imagined the first time he learned vodka was made from potatoes when he was thirteen. Mostly because his mind kept thinking it tasted like his grandma's chunky potato soup. "We took the subway home after that."

 

"Lisa has a boyfriend, by the way," Thomas tells Mario, groaning to himself, and Mario doesn't think twice before passing him the bottle.

 

"He's not her boyfriend, Thomas," Montana says. "He's her neighbour. They just like to make out sometimes, according to Ann. Like they did today when he happened to be in front of the building at the same time we made it there."

 

"Marco wants to go out with me," Mario admits, staring blankly at the turned off television as he takes the bottle back from Thomas and takes another sip. 

 

"And are you going to?" Montana asks, reaching for the bottle.

 

"No.”

 

Montana's phone pings in her lap. She picks it up and stares at the screen for a second, a broken look flashing across her face.

 

"André's staying at Ann's tonight," she mumbles, her voice low and thick as she tries to pull herself together.

 

"Fuck," Thomas lets out on the other side of the couch.

 

Fuck indeed _._

 

* * *

 

Mario wakes up to a blistering headache the next day. It's not completely unexpected, what with having spent the better part of his night sitting on his living room couch, flanked by two of his roommates as they drained bottle after bottle of disgusting alcohol and whined about their stupid lives. It was all very pathetic and more than slightly dramatic, and the consequences now make Mario want to bang his head against his bedroom wall repeatedly.

 

In hindsight, he should’ve known it wouldn’t end well. Mario, Thomas and Montana have never been known for making the best decisions after midnight, so drink the night away they did. It's still better than that time Thomas decided they weren't getting enough exercise and convinced them to climb up and down the stairs of their seven-storey-building at three in the morning. Thomas managed to complete the trip twice before he collapsed on the couch, Mario went down and then climbed one set of stairs before he sat down on the floor and proceeded to attack the remains of a chocolate bar he found in his pocket, while Montana called it a day as soon as she made it down the stairs, going out to smoke a cigarette instead and taking the elevator back to their apartment when she was done. 

 

Mario shakes himself out of those awful memories, worsening his headache in the process, before he scrambles out of bed and nearly crawls towards the bathroom. He spends a good hour in there, dozing off for some time on the toilet before popping a few painkillers and showering. He feels slightly better when he's done, definitely smells a lot better, and his stomach grumbles loud enough to notify him that he might be ready to swallow down some food despite his hangover. 

 

He's almost reached the kitchen when he hears Montana's voice, and something makes him stop in his tracks. 

 

"He's not your type."

 

"That maybe true, but my type has always been tall, tan and toned. And my type has always ended up hurting me. Maybe it's time I go for the nice guy."

 

Ann. And Mario's willing to bet his foot they're talking about André.

 

"Look, Ann," Montana sputters, sounding frustrated. "I just-- I don't want to, um, see him hurt."

 

"You know I wouldn't do that, M," Ann argues. “But if it bothers you that much, or if you like André, I will back off."

 

When Ann tried to recruit Mario and Thomas on her mission to knock some sense into her best friend a few days earlier, she’d suggested everything from locking Montana and André in a room together, to torturing Montana until she owned up to her potential feelings. Mario and Thomas had only shrugged and dismissed her plans, not wanting to mess with their roommate dynamic. Or at least that’s what they’d told Ann. In truth, though, neither of them was particularly excited about meddling in Montana’s life. It was a silent agreement they’d all came to, when they moved in together. Private lives were off-limits, unless one of them explicitly asked the others for help. 

 

"No," Montana dismisses immediately, and Mario has the unshakable urge to go and kick her in the shin. She clearly has a thing for André, and as rich as it is coming from him, it’s fucking frustrating to see her refuse to put herself out of her misery and admit it. "No, it's fine. I trust you. And you guys are not kids, so you know. If you like him that much, go for it."

 

"Are you sure?" Ann asks her, clearly giving her an out. Mario’s getting the feeling Ann’s plan, whatever it is, is backfiring. Or that it at least requires a lot more effort than she initially anticipated.

 

"Positive," Montana says, and Mario groans and walks into the kitchen just in time to see her fishing some glasses from one of the cabinets. 

 

Their eyes meet and Mario can't help but frown at his roommate, sympathetic and frustrated with her all at the same time. Montana turns her unfocused gaze to him, brow furrowed and furiously biting her lip, looking unsure and crabby all at the same time. It hits Mario suddenly how hard this must be for Montana, everyone trying to force a reaction out of her that might not be there in the first place. His face relaxes as he walks closer to her, ruffling her hair as he reaches over her head to grab a mug. It takes her a moment to react but then she grins at him, loosening up and elbowing him lightly in the ribs, a fond look on her face. 

 

"Hi Mario!" Ann chirps from her seat by the counter, and Mario's gaze lingers on Montana for another second before he turns to look at Ann. It still baffles him how these two are friends. Montana’s hair is piled up in a messy bun on top of her head, her ears adorned with over twelve different studs and spikes, tattoos covering nearly every inch of her exposed arms. It feels almost paradoxical to Ann’s look of the day, hair curled to perfection, thick lashes and bright red lips so on point that Mario’s tempted to reach out and feel it for himself, to make sure it’s not a permanent part of Ann-Kathrin’s face as he so casually suspects.  

 

"Morning, Ann," he replies as he approaches the counter where the girls have laid out breakfast, keeping his hands firmly behind his back.  

 

There's pancakes and pretzels and scrambled eggs and fruits and tea and it all smells so good. He finally takes a seat opposite Ann, Montana coming to plant herself on the stool next to him. She grabs a dish and fishes out one of the pretzels, throwing it on the plate before she hands it to Mario. The sudden burst of affection Mario has towards his friend is not completely unexpected, but it still catches him off guard, and before he can think about it, he wraps his arm around her shoulder, squeezing her lightly to him and kissing her face obnoxiously.  

 

Montana elbows him rather harshly in the stomach, grimacing and wiping aggressively at her cheek, and Mario chuckles as Ann raises her eyebrows at them.

 

“You guys are disgusting,” Ann comments as she pops a grape into her mouth, “you know that?”

 

Mario snorts but doesn’t say anything, moaning instead when he takes a large bite out of his pretzel.

 

"So, what are we doing today?"

 

* * *

 

Mario’s plan to avoid Marco turns out to be so much less complicated than he anticipates, it slightly unsettles him. Mario imagines it to be nearly impossible, expecting the boy to somewhat put up a fight and continue with his flirt fest from the night of the first gig, but it’s almost exactly the opposite, mostly because Marco’s just never there. 

 

He's not with his friends when they drop by the pub at odd days of the week, never with Ann or David when they visit Mario and his roommates in their apartment - or Thiago's. The only time he sees him the first month after they officially meet turns out to be Thursday nights at Benni's. And even then, Marco doesn't make a lot of effort to try and talk to Mario, nearly always busy with sound check or the actual set. It's both relieving and disappointing, Mario somehow missing the boy despite not knowing him long enough for it.

 

He keeps telling himself it's what he wanted, and for the most part, he really believes it. But then Thursday night will roll by and Marco will show up in a new plaid shirt and impossibly skinny jeans, or the softest sweater Mario has ever seen. He will play his set and act like an idiot and look like he’s having the time of his life, and Mario will find himself wishing for just a second that the blond would come up to him for something other than a quick drink. 

 

He never does.

 

* * *

 

“Why don’t you do yourself a favour and go talk to him?”

 

Montana’s voice startles Mario out of his haze, and he takes his eyes off the stage long enough to remember he’s currently at work, mixing cocktails for some girls sitting at the other end of the bar.

 

“What are you talking about?” He croaks out, happy to pretend he has no idea what Montana’s trying to tell him. He looks up at the girls he’s fixing the drinks for to distract himself, only to find they’re all sipping on cocktails and chatting happily. He furrows his brow, looking down at the bottle of gin in his hand. 

 

“I had to take care of it myself,” Montana shrugs, bumping into his back as she works around him, trying to reach for bottles to fill some shot glasses. There’s nothing judgemental about the way she’s looking at him, just a deliberate acceptance, and Mario wonders just how obvious he’s been recently. “You were otherwise occupied.”

 

Mario groans, shutting his eyes tightly and willing his mind to get it together. He doesn’t fight Montana when she pries the bottle of gin out of his hands, only runs his fingers through his hair and takes out his frustration on himself. Marco’s eyes are on him when he turns to look at the stage again, and Mario feels even more ridiculous. He sidesteps Montana as he wordlessly makes his way into the storage room, throwing himself on the couch in the corner of the room and closing his eyes. 

 

It’s messing with him. All of it. Marco and the band and this new social group he seems to be a part of. It doesn’t help that Felix has been calling him every other day as of late, his patience with his parents running thin, and Mario’s found himself on the other end of the line trying to talk him out of doing something stupid like running away more than once. If this keeps up, he’s going to have to call his parents and knock some sense into them, and that is one conversation he’s really not looking forward to having.

 

Much as he tries though, Felix is something Mario can’t control. Not all the way from here, anyway. He can, however, try to get his own shit together from this end. 

 

He clearly likes Marco, clearly wants to be friends with him, so maybe he should stop fighting it so much. Maybe he should accept the fact that this boy is in his life now, relish the fact that he’s not trying to push him to do anything he’s not comfortable with, and allow himself to enjoy his company.

 

It’s easier said than done, he knows that, because he’s spent his whole adult life trying to keep people at arm’s length, so this goes against everything he’s ever believed in. But it can’t make him feel any worse than he’s already feeling. Besides, he has no intention of hooking up with Marco again. Just, maybe, working towards being friends with the guy, just like he told him they could be that night.

 

He gets off the couch so ridiculously fast when he makes that decision that he has to hold on to the wall to find his balance, and he goes back outside as soon as he does.

 

“Look, I’m really not interested,” he hears Montana say to someone when he joins her behind the bar, and he looks up to find a rather good-looking guy seated right in front of her. A little bit too Khal Drogo for Mario’s liking, but damn if that isn’t the niftiest manbun Mario's ever seen. “Oh, Mario!” Montana exclaims cheerfully when she sees him, and Mario has to do a double take because never in his entire life has he used the word cheerful to describe anything Montana’s done. “There you are,” she coos, squeezing his hand unnaturally tight. “Mario, this is Dan,” she tells him, gesturing to the hot guy. “Dan, my boyfriend, Mario.” Mario’s eyes widen at her words, before he registers exactly what she’s insinuating, and he chokes on his own saliva, falling into a coughing fit next to her. “Anyway, like I said, Dan,” she continues, casually patting Mario on his back as he tries to catch his breath, “I’m not interested. And even if I was, I already have this little tiger keeping me up at night,” she adds in the most ridiculous tone, pointing at Mario who suddenly finds himself choking all over again. “So, thanks, but no thanks.”

 

By the time Mario picks himself off the floor and regulates his breathing, Khaleesi’s other half is gone, and he can only raise his eyebrows at Montana. 

 

“This little tiger?” He repeats her words from earlier, still baffled Montana has any of this in her. She sounded almost like Ann. 

 

“Desperate times,” she says casually, like she didn’t just pretend Mario was her boyfriend.

 

“Desperate times?” Mario repeats her words once more, very much like a parrot. He’s just having a hard time wrapping his head around what just happened, and not only for the most obvious reason. “Normally you would’ve jumped at the opportunity to go home with a guy like that.”

 

“I wouldn’t have jumped,” Montana objects, turning her back and leaning against the counter. “I’m just finding it a lot less gratifying, sleeping with all these people I don’t know. Most of them turn out to be nut jobs anyway.”

 

“Like that girl you brought home who stole half of our belongings?” Mario pipes in, laughing along with Montana at the scarring memory. “Isn’t that how you meet new people, though?” He asks after a minute, smiling at Auba when he notices him waving from next to the stage. 

 

“Not necessarily,” Montana hums, turning to see what Mario’s so happy about and waving at Auba when she spots him. Her eyes trail over to the stage and finally to André who’s standing next to Ann, gaze flickering over to the bar every few seconds. 

 

“Why don’t you do yourself a favour and go talk to him?” He tells her, and she turns to look at him, the flicker of a smile on her face betraying the bored act she’s trying to pull off.

 

“Real smart, Götze.” She laughs him off, pushing herself off the bar and clearing some empty glasses.

 

Thomas plops down on a stool right in front of them before either can get another word in, cheeks flushed from the cold outside and messy hair sticking up rather oddly when he takes his beanie off. 

 

“Heya roomies,” he beams at them, nodding gratefully at Montana when she silently reaches over the bar for his coat.

 

“You’re in far too good a mood,” Mario comments, eyeing him suspiciously as he fills up a beer for him.

 

“No more than usual, I’d say,” Montana remarks as she throws a coaster at him. 

 

“Yes, he is,” Mario insists, examining him closely when he places the drink in front of him. “I can see more of his teeth than I usually can,” he observes. “Did Lisa finally give you the time of day?”

 

Thomas laughs, taking a large gulp of his drink before he says anything. 

 

“Oh. That. Yeah, no,” he replies, shaking his head vehemently. “That’s off the table,” he adds thoughtfully. “From my side, at least. I’m not a big fan of forcing anyone into anything they don’t want, so I’m backing off. Lisa can kiss whomever she likes.”

 

“That’s awfully mature of you,” Montana mutters, her eyes flickering over to André for a second.

 

“Yeah, I’m just happy ‘cause one of the mares gave birth today, and it was my first time fully taking care of the delivery,” he tells them, clearly excited to be sharing his news, and Mario and Montana might not be the biggest horse fans, but they are Thomas fans, so they’ll support him anyway they can.

 

“Congratulations, Mülli!” Montana tells him honestly, stretching over the bar to hug him briefly.

 

“This calls for a toast,” Mario adds, filling up three shot glasses with the first bottle he grabs - rum - and handing one to each of his friends. “What did you end up naming the foal?”

 

“Bayern,” Thomas tells them, smiling proudly.

 

“Of course you did,” Mario mumbles, chuckling lightly and closing his eyes as Montana proceeds to hit her head against the bar repeatedly, laughing along with the two boys.

 

“To Bayern, then,” she conceded when she pulls herself up, clinking her glass with her friends’.

 

“To Bayern.”

 

* * *

 

Mario and Montana are cleaning up after closing, their friends and the band the only people left at the pub, when Mats clears his throat rather loudly, grabbing everyone's attention at once.

 

"Alright, so I don't know what you guys are doing this Sunday, but whatever your plans are, you're cancelling them," he orders, his voice booming in the small pub, and Mario can't help but snort a little. He even sounds like fucking Hercules, and they’re all his little workers on Mount Olympus. "I'm having a barbecue at my place, and since it's on a Sunday, none of you can back out because you have university. So you know, just show up and save yourself some trouble."

 

"Pshhh," Auba half-laughs half-sighs next to Mario, "as if anyone would turn down the opportunity to go to that fucking mansion Mats lives in."

 

"Mansion?" Mario repeats, raising his eyebrows as he cleans the countertop with a wet cloth. "I thought he lived with you guys?"

 

"He does," Auba nods. "But he owns another house. One that he uses for fun."

 

"For fun?" Mario echoes again, trying to wrap his head around the fact that someone could own a house and yet choose to live in a rented apartment with roommates.

 

"You'll see."

 

* * *

 

Benni spends the entire next day fretting over the trip to Mats’ house, worrying himself silly over how they’ll get there when they only have his car, and what he should bring, and is this a casual thing or do you think I should dress up, until Montana and Mario can’t take any of his whining anymore. Montana calls André to let them know they’ll be needing his car, and Mario shoots Thiago a text to see if David by any chance has a car. It turns out he doesn’t, but Auba does, a splashy yellow Alfa Romeo GTV that barely fits three people, but it’ll do.

 

They set out on Sunday around noon to Mats' place, splitting themselves up in the three cars. Jo is the only one adventurous enough to ride with Auba – Mario suspects it’s because the both of them are so far gone up each other’s asses that Jo is unable to completely process the horror show that is Auba’s driving - while Mario ends up in Schü's beat up blue Jeep with Montana, Thiago and David. The rest of their friends all manage to hole themselves in Benni's car, and it's unsurprisingly easy to fit them all in his minivan. Benni is such a fucking dad.

 

Mario’s resolve to stop trying to fight things so much on the Marco front sticks, and he’s almost disappointed when he doesn’t end up sharing a ride with him. That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy his own ride. David and Thiago, while basking in the glow of their newly-officiated relationship and acting nauseatingly cute with their hands linked on David’s thigh, are still great company as they sing along to the radio, butchering more songs than anyone should be allowed to. Their good mood even rubs off on Montana and André, who spend the ride laughing at their friends, and thankfully forgetting to act all awkward around one another.

 

They only start to calm down when they're close to Mats' house, about a half-hour drive away from the city, slowly swirling through rows upon rows of intertwining roads, surely making their way up some hills. The effect is immediate, Mario feeling himself relax as he takes in the scenery flying by outside the widow, the yards of green and yellow contrasting against the blue sky and reminding him of exactly what he loves about the Bavarian countryside so much. They stop on the side of the road shortly after that, and Mario looks up to see a huge black iron gate slowly opening up, exactly like they do in all those horror movies with haunted houses. Except that the house Mario can already spot behind the gate - a lot further behind the gate than any house should be - knocks his breath away, bigger than anything he's ever been in, or probably even seen. 

 

Auba, it turns out, was not kidding.

 

"The fuck is this place?" Montana mutters from the front, and Mario can hear the awe in her voice despite her choice of words.

 

None of them can gather an answer though, because when the gate finally opens and they start driving towards the front of the mansion, they can't do anything but stare. Around them, everywhere, miles upon miles of green, stretching to the right and left and up the hill behind the actual house, as far as the eye can see. There's a line of trees a little further to the right, signalling the edge of a forest. The house itself looks like something straight out of a Munich travel guide, with its white walls, long lines of wooden timbers and dark hip roof. It looks beautiful and warm and too big all at once, and Mario can't do anything but stare with his mouth wide open as the car comes to a stop and he makes his way out of it.

 

It’s unseasonably hot for December, as if even the weather has conspired to add to the storybook setting.

 

"Impressive, right?" Someone mutters next to Mario, startling him out of his trance, and when he turns to take a look, Mario finds Marco standing next to him, his head turned towards the house, hands in his pockets as he squints against the blinding sun.

 

It knocks Mario's breath away for second, Marco's proximity and how he snuck up on him, but then he turns his attention to the house in front of him, trying to regulate his breathing and keeping his thoughts straight. His first instinct is to ignore Marco’s comment, maybe turn and go over to where David and Auba are standing. But then he reminds himself of his decision, takes a deep breath and physically wills himself to hold his ground.

 

"Mats owns this?" he finally manages to ask, his voice a little more strangled than he'd like for it to be, but he’s sounded worse.

 

"His parents do," Marco shrugs, clearly used to this place. "They own like half of Germany, so they gave this place to Mats when he decided to move to Munich. They gave Jonas, Mats' brother, a similar house. I think it's a twenty-minute-drive from here. Jonas usually joins us when Mats is doing one of his get-togethers, but he's in Paris, I think, so he had to skip the barbecue today." 

 

"Is he as nice as Mats is?" He asks, trying to keep up the conversation.

 

"Yep," Marco nods, popping his lips in a way that Mario tries very hard not to find attractive. "Pretty easy on the eyes too," he muses, shooting a quick look at Mario before he leaves him standing there and starts walking towards the entrance.

 

Mario can only stare at Marco's retreating back, trying to make sense of the sudden, unbridled hate he has for Jonas Hummels. It’s embarrassing and petty, and Mario really needs to get his shit together. He’s saved from more embarrassment and self-loathing when Montana comes to stand next to him, her eyes following André and Ann as they make their way up the front door. She sighs, lowering her head for a second and staring at her boots before she lifts her eyes back up and peers at Mario.

 

"Ready for this?" She asks, squeezing his shoulder a little until he relaxes and turns to meet her eyes.

 

"Not in a million years?" He answers, his voice hitching a little as he shifts Montana's arm until she's hugging his waist instead, draping his own arm around her shoulder.

 

"Ready as we'll ever be, then," she mutters, squeezing his waist now and making him squirm a little, laughing at his surprised giggle. "Let's go."

 

* * *

 

Reluctant as he was to actually come, Mario has to admit, it might not have been such a bad idea after all.

 

Mats is there to greet them at the door, looking especially excited to see Benni, and they soon move to the backyard to set up the grill. Of course, what Mats refers to as a backyard, Mario thinks more of as a national park. He can see the edge of the forest all the way from here, and when he turns his back to it to properly take a look at the house from this angle, it’s even bigger than he originally thought.

 

“You can go in, if you’d like,” Mats comments offhandedly, and Mario turns to find him smiling at him. “Both of you,” he adds, and Mario looks to his right only to find Jo standing there in an equal state of awe. “Have a look around.”

 

Jo finally averts his eyes long enough to look at Mario, and while the perpetually angry expression he wears is still on his face, Mario can see a hint of curiosity there, too.

 

“You wanna?” Jo asks.

 

Mario only smiles and shrugs his shoulders before making his way back in, closely followed by the other boy.

 

The house is as impressive from the inside as it is from the outside, huge and clean and cosy all at the same time, and Mario finally stops counting after the fifth bedroom. He’s especially impressed with the TV room, a mini-theatre with a dozen of those ridiculous reclining sofas that probably have massage options, and possibly the biggest screen Mario has ever seen outside of a proper movie theatre.

 

The grill is already up and working by the time they make it back down, and Mario’s happy to see Montana and André sitting on a nearby log – because yes, there are seating logs in the backyard, like some ridiculous camping site that houses dozens of students – and looking happy as André gesticulates wildly, in the middle of telling his roommate something that, by the looks of it, she finds especially amusing.

 

He has half a mind to go up to Mats and Benni and kiss them for making this happen, but then he turns to look for Ann, only to find her chopping some vegetables on a nearby table with David and Thiago. She only raises her eyebrows at Mario when their eyes meet, clearly taking all the credit for the current respite they’re going through.

 

Marco and Auba are playing with Mats’ dogs – conveniently named Marco and Viv – a little further away, running around as the dogs chase them. Mario thinks about joining them for a moment, but then is saved from doing so when Mats asks him and Jo to grab some plates and utensils from the kitchen to set the table. 

 

Jo soon drags him by the elbow inside the house before Mario can think more about it, and he spends the next ten minutes laughing when Jo unintentionally breaks a plate and proceeds to panic angrily and try to cover his crime at the same time. 

 

It turns out to be a complete waste of energy, however, because as soon as they've made it to the backyard with the utensils, Mats tells him not to worry about that plate he broke, at which point Jo proceeds to scowl and turn an alarming shade of red as Mario dissolves in another fit of giggles. 

 

It's only goes uphill from there, with Mario trying to make Jo feel less like crap about himself. He thinks he’s doing a good job at it, but then Auba walks by them, stopping for a moment to peck Jo on the lips, and Mario has never seen anyone light up quite like this. It’s easy to get Jo to relax after that, and Mario’s pleasantly surprised to find out that he's actually a pretty fun guy. They spend the afternoon sitting by the grill with Montana and André, listening to Montana whine about Benni’s current hairstyle and playing a game of “Guess which anime this particular tattoo is from.”

 

Lisa and Thomas join them shortly before they sit around the table for lunch, and Mario thinks it's cute how Lisa seems to only smile whenever Thomas says something dumb. He's still not sure she has any intention of ever giving Thomas a chance, and either way, Thomas did say he would not be pushing it anymore. But she does look like she’s warming up to him, Mario can tell, which is not completely unexpected. It's freaking Thomas, after all, he can melt an iceberg with his foot. That is, if he manages to hit said iceberg before he falls on his face.

 

Lunch is a loud, big, fun affair, at the end of which Mario finds himself surprised to be hoping this is not the last time they'll be doing this. It might have something to do with him ending up sitting opposite Marco on the large table, with very little control over his blushing face and unexpected bouts of laughter. But in all fairness, he also truly enjoys all the ruckus around him, Montana laughing louder than he's heard her do in a while, Mats and Benni flirting openly and very embarrassingly in front of them all, Thiago and David ganging up on Ann as she tries to stake her claim as the best hair around this table.   

 

Mario’s good mood sticks throughout the afternoon, and when he finally makes his way outside after the tables have been cleared and everyone's holed inside to escape the colder air of the afternoon, he's almost relieved to see Marco sitting in the backyard alone on one of the foldout chairs, bundled up in a large hoodie, one of Mats' dogs seated half on top of him, drowsily comfortable on Marco's lap as the latter runs his fingers through the beautiful fur around the dog's neck.

 

There's another lounging chair next to them, currently occupied by the other dog, looking a lot more bored and much less happy than the one currently covering nearly the entirety of Marco's legs. Mario hesitates for a moment, wondering whether or not he should make his presence known. He’s saved from having to make a choice when Marco looks behind him as if sensing Mario, straightening up a little when he notices him there.  

 

"Don't worry," Marco says, smiling lightly at him, his gaze flickering for a second towards the other chair, his voice hoarse and slightly drowsy. "Marco doesn't bite."

 

Mario stops in his tracks for a moment, his face flushed and his eyebrows raised, before he realizes they're talking about the dog. The grin on Marco's face however, says he knows exactly where Mario's mind went. 

 

 _That little shit_. 

 

Mario tries to walk as smoothly as possible over to the small ice box, pulling out two beers and handing one to Marco before he makes his way over to the other recliner. He sets the beer bottle on the small table between the two chairs, and only hesitates a second before he kneels down and starts running his fingers through the fur on the dog's back. Marco - the dog - doesn't react for a moment, but then he lifts his head a little, turning around lightly to look at Mario, before he gets up suddenly to stand on the chair, turning around to fully take him in. It startles Mario for a moment, and he jerks his hand away quickly, only keeping still when Marco's snout hits his arm.

 

"He's just trying to get familiar," Marco says from his perch on the other chair, throwing a reassuring smile at Mario. "Don't let it scare you."

 

Mario looks up at Marco, nodding nervously before he turns his attention back to the animal in front of him. The dog lingers for another second, sniffing at Mario's arm and hands, before he pulls back, peering at him like he's trying to see through him. 

 

"Okay, you can touch him again," Marco tells him. "He likes it when you rub his neck," he instructs, and Mario looks up for another moment, smiling gratefully at him before doing as he's told. 

 

Marco - the dog - makes a content sound before he gets off the chair suddenly, wagging his tail almost violently as he stands alert next to Mario.

 

"You can sit down," Marco says, quirking his head to the side and observing Mario. It’s slightly unnerving, but Mario does as he's told, straddling the chair for a second before he stretches his legs in front of him. "Just don't be scared when Marco climbs on top of you," he warns at exactly the same time the dog climbs nearly half on top of Mario.

 

He can't stop himself from squeaking as the pressure surprises him, and he can hear Marco snicker next to him. 

 

It's a little uncomfortable at first, but then Mario manoeuvres himself until he's mostly okay, Marco's head in his lap and the rest of him draped on Mario's legs, and he starts petting the dog again, running his fingers through the fur, as he lets himself bask in the warmth the dog provides.

 

"Okay, now I get why you're so okay with sitting here in the cold," he hums, lowering himself a little and closing his eyes as he gets himself comfortable. "This is better than any blanket I've ever owned."

 

Marco laughs quietly next to him, taking his beer bottle and extending his arm towards Mario. It takes a minute for Mario to pull his hand up from his pocket, but then he holds out his own bottle, bumping it with Marco’s and taking a sip.

 

"Just don't tell anyone."

 

Mario laughs heartily, taking another sip from the bottle and closing his eyes as his fingers lose themselves in the dog's fur. He doesn't remember the last time he allowed himself to relax like this, and it feels really good to be able to just sit there and do nothing. 

 

He sighs contentedly, enjoying the cool afternoon air, and when he opens his eyes and turns to look at Marco, he finds the other boy staring at him, a small smile on his lips, a look of... something on his face that makes Mario flush from head to toe. 

 

He takes another gulp from his drink, for lack of something better to do, before he tries to think of something to say. It's not that he's not enjoying the quiet, it's just that Marco's looking at him like he's seen him naked and it's not helping his heart rate calm down to a human beat.

 

"So," he mumbles, peering at the dog in his lap. "Why would Mats name his dog Marco?"

 

"To piss me off?" Marco replies quickly, raising his eyebrows and shrugging when Mario looks at him. "Well. I mean, technically, _he_ didn’t name them. But I can assure you he did everything in his power to choose the most awkwardly-named dogs he could’ve found. Their names are actually more ridiculous than you'd think."

 

"They are?"

 

"Viv is short for Vivienne Von Eastplain. Marco for Marcus VII," he explains, rolling his eyes but then smiling when Viv moves her head a bit, snuggling deeper into him and clearly tickling his stomach in the process.

 

"Of course. Of course he chooses the one dog called Vivienne Von Eastplain," Mario snorts loudly, turning to meet Marco's eyes. "And were there, like, six Marcuses - Marci? - before the current one?"

 

"Nope," Marco shakes his head, an exasperated look on his face. "I can't even explain any of it. All I remember is me, Mats and Jonas sitting on the floor of Mats' room in Dortmund when I was fourteen, two puppies wrapped up between the three of us, and Mats and Jonas agreeing that those names were perfect. The Marco bit, was of course, Mats' idea."

 

"To get on your nerves?" Mario guesses, taking another sip of his beer and meeting Marco's eyes again.

 

"To get on my nerves," Marco groans a little, but then his eyes turn to look at Mario, squinting happily at him. "It doesn't always work though," he reassures. "I mean, sure, it gets really tedious, all those Marco the dog comments, but in truth, I quite like the name Marco. I think it suits him."

 

"I really couldn't tell from that giant tattoo you have on your arm," Mario scoffs, earning himself a small chuckle out of Marco.   

 

"It is a good name," Marco reiterates. "And I get to live vicariously through the dog, sometimes." 

 

"Oh yeah?" Mario wrinkles his forehead, meeting his eyes again. "How so?"

 

"Well, right now, for one thing," Marco starts casually. "He's slobbering all over you while I'm stuck here covered in dog."

 

It takes a second for Mario to register exactly what Marco is insinuating, and it's all he can do not to blush. He hopes the disappearing sun means that Marco can't really see, but judging by the half-smirk currently taking hold of the boy's face, he's pretty sure he knows exactly the effect his words have on Mario. 

 

"Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable," Marco says after a moment, an apologetic look on his face. "According to my professor, I have an astounding lack of filter, so suffering through inappropriate comments is one of the downsides of being my friend."

 

"With the upside being?"

 

"I'm a psych major so you know where to go if you ever need a shrink," he states, shrugging lightly.

 

“Isn’t it, like, against the rules? Tending to a patient when you have emotional ties to them?” Mario wonders, and Marco rolls his eyes.

 

"Hannibal certainly doesn’t think so,” Marco objects, smiling proudly when Mario chuckles. “And if you’re gonna get hung up on the details, then I’d argue there are more perks to being friends with me,” he adds. “I'm funny and charming and I have awesome taste in clothes."

 

"Oh, wow," Mario laughs loudly as he turns to look at him once more. "You're quite the modest one, too."

 

"Add that to the list,” Marco says, laughing along with him. "That and I'm a drummer in a band. Everybody loves a good drummer."

 

"Yeah, here's the thing: good might be pushing it a little too far," Mario says in a very serious tone, earning another laugh out of the boy. 

 

"I've got some serious rapping skills?" Marco tries again, looking at Mario for confirmation. Mario winces a little, and Marco cackles louder. "Do I have any redeeming qualities, like, at all?" Mario pretends to think for a long moment, lightly tapping his fingers along his cheek. Marco grins widely at him, his eyes never leaving Mario. "Please, take more time with this," he adds when he can't keep quiet anymore. "It's doing wonders for my ego."

 

Mario chortles before he settles down and looks at Marco with a smile, taking a sip of his beer. 

 

"Your hair is always on point?" He tries after a minute, the compliment coming out more like a question, but Marco will apparently take anything he can get.

 

"Yes!" He exclaims rather loudly, nearly startling a snoozing Vivienne in his lap. "My hair  _is_  always on point, thank you for noticing." 

 

"You're welcome," Mario says, waving his hand in the air in a very theatrical bow. 

 

Marco lets out another chuckle before they both quiet down, smiles plastered on their faces as they settle back in their seats and pet the dogs in their laps. It’s only a few minutes before Mario speaks again.

 

"I'm from there, too, you know," he says in a low voice, for some unknown reason feeling the need to share this with Marco.

 

"What?" Marco asks, turning his head unnaturally fast to look at Mario.

 

"Dortmund," Mario explains, sighing a little and turning his gaze away from the other boy. He's not sure why he's telling him any of this, there's no real reason for him to know. But it's the first time since he moved to Munich that he's wanted to tell anyone about it, so he's not going to stop himself now. "I lived there until I graduated from high school and then moved here."

 

"I didn't know that," Marco mumbles, and Mario can feel his eyes on him. 

 

"Yeah, well, I can't exactly expect you to know everyone who's ever lived in Dortmund."

 

"So did you move here alone, or did your entire family relocate with you?" Marco asks casually, and Mario feels a sour taste in his mouth. 

 

 _Family_.

 

"Uh, no," he stutters, trying to work his way around the truth. "They- they're still there," he mumbles, unable to say the word. "Right by the Konzerthaus where I left them." The words are bitter on his tongue, low and searing. He wraps himself tighter in his jacket, burying both his hands in Marco's fur to keep from shivering.

 

"You lived by the Konzerthaus?" Marco asks, and when Mario turns to look at him, there's something like recognition in his eyes. It's nice to know he can imagine the exact setting in his mind. 

 

"Right next to it," Mario nods, smiling despite himself when memories of his old neighbourhood start flashing through his mind. “There was a great burger place on my street. Food Brother. They had the best sweet po-“

 

"-tato fries,” Marco finishes for him, something glinting in his eyes. “I have a friend who lived on the same street," Marco comments in lieu of an explanation, his lopsided grin making another appearance. "The odds of you knowing him are not very high, but now that you've mentioned it, it makes me kinda miss Erik.”

 

Marco’s right, the odds of Mario knowing this boy are not very high, even if they both grew up near each other. But he still racks his brain for any Eriks he might remember from his time in Dortmund. Only one stands out.

 

"The only Erik I remember is Erik Durm, and I haven’t seen him since I left town.”

 

"Fucking small world," Marco mutters, his crooked smile growing bigger. “That’s Erik.”

 

"Lived two buildings down from me," Mario adds, trying to remember the boy in question. Slightly tall, thin as rails, blond with a tendency to flush at the slightest hint of anything. They were actually good friends. "We used to play football in the park together," he continues, trying not to wince at the painful memory. 

 

"Everyone in Dortmund played football," Marco comments casually, laughing to himself, and it takes every amount of willpower Mario has not to let his face fall. "Even me," he adds, meeting Mario's eyes. "I wasn't bad at it, but my ankle would swell at the tiniest of contacts," he chuckles to himself, and Mario smiles painfully at him. "My sisters used to say I had porcelain for bones."

 

"Not me," Mario says, his voice bitter despite his smile. "I would've made it."

 

"What?" Marco asks, raising his eyebrows and half turning to him, his face more serious than Mario has seen him all day. "Gone full pro?" Mario nods, turning to look at the tree line visible a few miles away. "And yet you're a bartender in Munich?"

 

"Life got in the way," Mario says, swallowing thickly as he tries to keep his voice steady. Life might've gotten in the way, but its hand was more than forced. "Anyway," he continues, clearing his throat and turning to look at Marco. The other boy looks back at him with unwavering attention, like he's trying to solve a mystery presented to him. Mario only buries his nose in his collar for a moment before he continues. "Like I said, I haven't seen Erik since I was, like, eighteen."

 

"He was in the UK last time I talked to him," Marco shrugs, clearly careful not to push Mario. "Went there with that Schalke trash he was always with, Julian something."

 

"Draxler?" Mario guesses, smiling to himself as he remembers all the crap Jules used to get from everyone for liking Schalke. “We went to the same school.”

 

"Yeah, him," Marco nods. "Living with some guy they met in England. Short guy, seems permanently angry, big on Arsenal. Jack something. He was with them when we went back to Dortmund last December, and I’m pretty sure they have some sort of three-way going on."

 

"Huh," Mario hums, slightly amused. Erik was never one to stick to the so-called norms. Good on him if it makes him happy. 

 

"Yep," Marco nods, taking a sip of his drink.

 

“Well, at least his life is working out for him,” Mario shrugs, finishing his beer and setting it back on the table.

 

“And yours is not?” Marco enquires, and Mario doesn’t miss the underlying curiosity in his tone. 

 

Mario hesitates for a second, turning to look at Marco, and for the first time, he actually contemplates telling this near-complete stranger about all the shit he’s been through. He’s thankfully saved from doing so, however, when the backyard door opens behind them, and they both turn around at the same time to find Montana coming their way.

 

“Gotta get moving,” she tells them, coming to a stop when she’s next to Mario, kneeling down to pet Marco. “We have to open the pub in less than an hour.”

 

Mario smiles at her before shooting an apologetic smile at Marco, unsure whether or not that’s relief that he feels at having managed to sidestep that conversation. Marco the dog finally frees Mario’s legs when he feels him moving under him, and it takes Mario a minute to get some feeling back into them. 

 

“We’re going back with Schü?” He asks, getting up and trying to rid himself of the dog’s fur.

 

“No,” Montana replies, hesitating for a second before she continues. “He’s, um- he and Ann have plans for the evening, so we’re riding back with Benni.” 

 

She sighs thoughtfully, avoiding Mario’s eyes and turning to Marco. When Mario looks at the other boy too, he can see his features are mirroring Marco’s.

 

“Please stop looking at me like you know something about me,” Montana groans, hiding herself further in the hoodie Mario knows is André’s. He keeps it in his car, for when it gets really cold.

 

“We’re not,” Marco tries, getting up and wiping at his clothes before he stretches his legs and pets Viv’s head. “But if it bothers you so much, why don’t you say something?”

 

“It doesn’t bother me,” Montana replies hurriedly. “I was worried about André at first, but it’s Ann. There’s no one I trust in the world more than her.” 

 

She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than anyone, and Mario doesn’t like the look on her face. It seems Marco’s on the same page, because he suddenly clears his throat, walking closer to Montana and throwing an arm around her.

 

“Not even me?” He asks, pouting a little and going for his most innocent look.

 

“Oh Marco,” Montana says, smiling gratefully at him and wrapping her arm around his waist, “you can rest assured knowing there’s no one I trust less than you.”

 

* * *

 

The weeks after the barbecue go nothing like Mario expects.

 

Not that he has any expectations, really. It's not like he spends the next two days after the barbecue thinking about his conversation with Marco, or about how he was so ready to tell him things that he's never really wanted to share with anyone, ever. Not like he spends his entire Wednesday coming up with seventy different scenarios as to how the next day will go. Not like he rehearses how he’ll say hi to Marco, the perfect balance between friendly and uncaring, his smile wide enough to both convey and belie his genuine excitement to see the boy again. 

 

Except that the band take a break from their musical duties for the entire month of December, and Mario doesn’t see Marco for a whole month, enough to actually forget about him if he wants to. He doesn’t.

 

The first Thursday night after the break rolls around and things take a turn for the worse. Marco misses sound check entirely, only showing his face ten minutes before the gig with a - beautiful, Mario will begrudgingly admit - blonde in tow. Mario barely has any time to even realize the smile plastered on his face is nothing like he rehearsed in front of his mirror all those weeks before, way too wide and way too excited, before his spirits fall strikingly fast, his mood darkening alarmingly when the girl rushes over to the bar right in front of him to hug Montana, Ann and David, apparently quite familiar with them. 

 

Things go even further downhill when Ann leaves the girl her seat, running over to the stage and leaving Mario with nowhere to hide and no choice but to smile at her and shake her hand when Montana introduces the two of them.

 

He learns a lot of things that night. The girl's name is Carolin. She went to school with Marco. She was Marco's girlfriend. For four fucking years. She lives in Berlin where she's a human rights activist in one of the biggest NGOs in the country, currently helping aid and abed as many refugee families as she can. She was Marco's girlfriend. She's staying in Munich for a few days and she was looking forward to surprising all her friends, so she only informed Marco of her plans, who in turn kept everyone in the dark when it came to his trip to the train station. She's Marco's ex-girlfriend.

 

It's too much for Mario to handle, his head thrumming and his whole fucking body aching, and by the time the band take their set break, he can't escape to the back room fast enough. 

 

He throws himself on the couch as soon as he's in, laying horizontally and trying not to get mad at just how much he actually likes Carolin. It's unfair that someone should be so beautiful and funny and apparently just all-around  _good_ all at the same time. How is he fucking meant to compete with that?

 

His eyes widen at the thought because there will be no damn competing. Marco is not some prize, and even if he was, Mario is definitely not in the race to win him, nor does he want to be.

 

He's in the middle of mentally berating himself for that stupid, _stupid_ , thoughtless idea when Marco follows him in, clearing his throat and smiling brightly when his eyes land on Mario in the corner of the room. 

 

He's too shocked to react properly or move to greet the boy, content to go very still instead, barely breathing as he stares at Marco, like he might disappear into the couch if he tries hard enough.

 

"I was looking for you," Marco says casually, walking over to him until he's so close to the couch that Mario's looking directly above him, Marco's face and his half-assed smirk staring him down like some weirdly hot demigod. "I got here really late today so I couldn't come by before the set to say hi."

 

Mario doesn't even know what's happening, can't even gather his thoughts long enough to find out. But when Marco's smile starts disappearing, his eyebrows knitting together as he clearly tries to read Mario's reaction, it finally hits him that he should probably do something before the other boy tries to look for his pulse or give him CPR.

 

"I have a headache," Mario says in lieu of answer, which is not a complete lie, but then he straightens up so fast it only serves to worsen his migraine, mentally kicking himself for acting like an uncoordinated hippo in front of Marco. "Sorry," he sighs eventually, lowering his head for a minute before pulling himself together and turning to properly look at Marco. "I didn't, um, notice that you were late, honestly," he lies, putting his fingers to his temple. "I'm not feeling very good today." The last part is not exactly a lie.

 

"Oh." Marco's silent for a few seconds, before he, too, relaxes a bit. "It's- um, can I get you anything?" 

 

Mario smiles despite himself, his awkwardness fizzling at the honesty of the boy in from of him.

 

"I'm fine," he dismisses quickly. "You said you were looking for me?"

 

"Yeah," Marco replies, fishing something out of his pocket. "I wanted to give you this," he adds, handing Mario a crumpled piece of paper. 

 

Mario unfolds the thick paper slowly, straightening it out with his fingers until he can read the typing on it.

 

 _This coupon entitles you to one free Hot Drink & Pretzel Combo from Matze's Bakery at the purchase of any other breakfast combo_.

 

Mario stares at the text for a minute, not exactly sure what this means, before he looks back up at Marco.

 

"I won this at some raffle a few weeks back, and I haven't gotten around to using it," Marco tells him casually. "I saw Erik when I went back to Dortmund for Christmas - he says hi and he misses you, you dick - his words, not mine - - and he mentioned something about you being a pretzel monster?"

 

"You talked to Erik about me?" Mario asks, for lack of anything better to say, a surprised look on his face. He's still trying to understand how to process this, but he's worried he's reading Marco wrong.

 

"It’s not a big deal," Marco dismisses, rubbing his neck nervously, his low laughter doing things to Mario's stomach. "We met up at Food Brother, and I couldn’t not mention that I’d met you after that. And yeah, so," he adds, cracking his fingers, "I don't know, I had this lying around, and I thought maybe..." He trails off, laughing nervously, and Mario smiles shyly.

 

"Yeah, um, sure, yeah, thanks," Mario rambles, trying his hardest not to blush. "I could- we, um, yeah-- totally, for breakfast."

 

"Yeah, good," Marco nods, wiping his hands on his dark pants. "You can take whoever you want with you," he continues, and Mario goes very still. He most definitely read this wrong. "The place is like two blocks away from your building, and it's actually really good, so."

 

Mario stays still for another few seconds, trying not to beat himself up over how awfully he misread the situation.

 

"Thanks," he finally manages to utter, turning to look away from Marco as the latter stands up, trying to smooth out the creases on his pants and shirt. "Yeah, I'll-- yeah, definitely use it," he adds, genuinely thankful despite everything.

 

"It's no problem," Marco says, smiling at him. "I hope your head's better," he adds, lingering for another second before he starts walking backwards towards the exit. 

 

"Thanks," Mario replies, smiling and holding out the coupon. "Thanks," he repeats, trying to hide his disappointment, as Marco shoots him one last smile before he finally makes his way out of the room. "Thanks."

 

* * *

 

Mario's waiting for the elevator at the foot of his building two days later, completely lost in his thoughts - Marco, Felix, Marco, Montana and André, Felix, Marco - when the door opens to reveal the person he's least expecting to find there. 

 

She looks the same as always, pretty face hidden behind curtains of straight, light brown hair. Her black oversized crocheted sweater bares holes big enough to reveal the burgundy slip dress she's wearing underneath, and it makes Mario want to wrap his jacket tighter around himself, wondering how she doesn't feel cold. Below the knee-length dress, he can see a pair of dark jeans peaking, tucked into some beat up combat boots. She looks nice and layered and weird, the same as she always does.

 

"Lisa?" He asks stupidly. 

 

"Hi Mario," she says, a small smile on her lips as she holds out the door for him. He makes no move to go into the elevator, even though the grocery bag he's currently holding is threatening the overtake him. 

 

Lisa looks sort of shy and slightly unsure, quite unlike her usual self. In the short time Mario has known her, he's never found himself able to describe her using those words. Instead, traits he does associate with her go along the line of perpetually bored, freakishly smart, and unintentionally funny. 

 

He stands frozen to the spot for a long moment, contemplating her presence, until Lisa seemingly gives up on him and finally lets the elevator go. She runs her fingers through her long hair, a clear effort not to allow Mario's scrutiny to get to her, before she meets his eyes again. 

 

"What are you doing here?" Mario finally finds his voice again, smiling at her and chewing the insides of his mouth nervously.

 

Lisa fiddles with her hair some more, before she moves next to the elevator and leans back against the wall. Her gaze flickers back and forth between Mario and the gate behind, like she's having a battle inside her head, weighing in the words she might want to say.

 

"I don't have work today," she says finally, her eyes back on Mario, her spiky eyebrow ring glimmering against the rays of sun filtering through the front entrance of the building. "And, um, I was just checking to see if Thomas was home," she continues, pulling on a thread on her worn jumper. "Because maybe he'd wanna do something. But it doesn't look like he's home."

 

"Oh," Mario mumbles, genuinely surprised at this development, but in no way unhappy about it. He knew Thomas and Lisa were getting close, even if she did say she wasn't interested and Thomas did promise to respect her wishes, but he didn't know they were _that_ close. "Thomas is never home around this time," he explains, adjusting the heavy grocery bag on his hip. "He's usually at the stables all day. He rarely gets back home before four in the afternoon," he adds, watching Lisa's face fall for a split second before her eyes suddenly widen at him. "What?" Mario asks when she doesn't say anything, putting one hand to his cheek self-consciously. Does he have something in his teeth?

 

Lisa sputters for words for a moment, straightening up and pulling harder on that thread, so hard that her sweater threatens to nearly give under the pressure. 

 

"Stables?" She wonders eventually, her eyebrows knitted together and her cheeks suddenly flushed.

 

"Yeah," Mario nods, leaning his weight on his other foot. "He's very close to getting his doctorate and he already has his practicing license, so he gets to go every day and check on the horses. He has to keep an eye on their progress, or at least that's what he claims. I just think he goes there to ride horses all day," Mario shrugs, smiling fondly to himself as an image of Thomas going on a long and boring horse tirade jumbles his thoughts.

 

"Oh," Lisa mumbles after a while, a little unsure on her feet. She stays quiet for another moment, smiling unsurely at Mario before she makes to move. "Well, I guess- I'll just, go," she tells him, waving awkwardly as she walks past him.

 

Mario stays glued to his spot for a minute, weighing something in his mind. He makes up his mind before Lisa is out the door.

 

"Hey Lisa?" He calls out to her, and she stops walking and turns to him with a confused look on her face. "I, um- Marco gave me this, um, breakfast coupon at this place nearby," he stammers, trying not to flush when he says Marco's name. "And, I don't know. Do you maybe wanna grab some breakfast?"

 

Lisa looks surprised at the offer, but not completely repulsed, Mario's glad to see. She hesitates for a few seconds, before she starts nodding her head.

 

"Yeah, sure," she says, smiling at him, and Mario returns the gesture. 

 

"Great. I just have to take this bag upstairs and we can go," he tells her, turning to reach for the elevator around the bag. It's nearly impossible, and before his gives himself an aneurism trying to reach for the handle, Lisa walks past him and pulls the door open for him.

 

"Thanks," he says as he walks in, followed by Lisa.

 

"No problem."

 

* * *

 

"Most over-the-top?"

 

Lisa squints at Mario as she takes another bite out of her pretzel, clearly mulling her answer over.

 

They've been at the bakery for a while now, hunched over a tiny square table in front of the crowded shop. It's not exactly the most comfortable seating arrangement, but Mario has always liked it here, and Lisa doesn't seem to mind their proximity to the neighbouring tables.

 

They started playing this game halfway through their walk to the bakery, when the awkward silence became a little too much for Mario. An imaginary superlative friendship tree of sorts, where they both tried to argue who belonged where on the tree. Mario, for example, decided Thomas earned the title of the weirdest of their friends, but Lisa argued that it had to be Jo, what with him being perpetually angry at everyone except for Auba.

 

"I'm inclined to say Mats," Lisa answers, staring intently at Mario. "Because, I mean, you've see his fucking house." Mario chuckles and nods in agreement. For a house, that thing sure is over-the-fucking-top. "But then again, you've met Auba. He's a middle-class marketing student who has the lifestyle of a word famous footballer," she continues, rolling her eyes, a fond smile on her lips. "It's hard to top that in the over-the-top department." Mario only nods and laughs, remembering that night about three weeks back when Auba showed up to the bar in a jewel-encrusted leather jacket. That wasn't his finest moment. "And for you?"

 

"We're all pretty chill in that department, I think," Mario shrugs, tearing a piece of his pretzel and shoving it in his mouth. He's quiet for a moment as he chews, deep in thought, before he looks up at Lisa again. "Thiago, if I absolutely had to pick one," he adds. "He won't leave the house if his shoes are not shined properly, so."

 

"Ugh," Lisa groans. "Sounds like a joy to be around."

 

"He is," Mario manages to get out as he chuckles, grinning happily at the girl in front of him. He knew Lisa was nice, even when she didn't talk to him all that much, or anyone for that matter, but now, having spent time alone with her, he's happy to see she's funny in an understated way, and she clearly cares a lot more than she wants to show. "Okay, most annoying?"

 

They're both quiet for a few seconds, going through the list in their heads and trying to see who fits the bill.

 

"Ann," they both say at the same time, Lisa's eyes widening, both of them giggling around their breakfast.

 

"I mean don't get me wrong," Lisa adds, taking a sip of her tea. "I love Ann. She's an amazing musician and funny as hell, and most times I just wanna jump her bones. But there’s other times when I wanna wring her pretty little neck, especially with what she's putting Montana through."

 

"No, yeah, I totally agree," Mario tells her. "But you have to admit. Ann might be pushing it too far with that, but it's mostly working. It's actually getting Montana to open up a little." Lisa nods reluctantly, popping another piece of her pretzel into her mouth. "She takes the title for the most emotionally constipated, by the way." 

 

"I'd argue it's you," Lisa objects, raising her eyebrows at him. "I mean clearly, I don't know you well enough to be sure, but I've known you and Montana the same amount of time. And I'd argue it's you," she insists, and Mario feels himself flush. He drinks some of his coffee to distract himself, trying to hide behind the cup, but Lisa can see right through him. "And I'm not just talking about you blowing Marco off."

 

Mario chokes on his drink for a second, his eyes widening at Lisa's words. It takes an inhuman effort for him to keep from spluttering his drink all over the table.

 

"He told you about that?" He finally asks, his voice a lot higher than he plans.

 

"We talk sometimes," Lisa shrugs, seemingly trying to make it less of a big deal. "I've known Marco for a long time," she adds, and it feels like she's trying to justify why she and Marco are close. "That first night at the pub, when he saw you, he told me he was gonna ask you out. He'd already told me about what happened a few weeks earlier," she continues, and Mario flushes a deeper shade of red. He can tell Lisa's not trying to make him feel uncomfortable, but he feels awkward with someone talking about his love life so casually. _Sex life_ , he mentally corrects himself. "And he mentioned later that you weren't interested. And that's that. But like I said, it's not my only defence in this case."

 

"What is, then?" Mario asks, trying to level his voice and find his composure. This is a lot more information than he thought he'd be getting today.

 

"You just seem so guarded around all of us," she says casually, finishing off the last of her food. "Like you're reluctant to like us, even though you clearly do. Like there's an imaginary arm you're holding out in front of you to keep everyone from getting too close."

 

"At arm's length," Mario mutters under his breath, for the first time understanding this expression to its full extent. 

 

"But, hey, I'm not judging," Lisa backtracks, fiddling with her hands. "I'm really not. I make out with my neighbour because it keeps me from thinking about the people I care about more than I want to," she admits casually, surprising Mario with her off-handed near-confession.  

 

"Like Thomas?" Mario pushes, his words low, like he's trying not to frighten her.

 

"Like people," Lisa breathes, careful not to let too much out. The tiny smile on her face tells Mario another story. "Anyway," she continues, shaking herself out of her thought. "What I'm trying to say is that we're here. If you wanna let us in, that is. And if you don't, we're still gonna be here until you're ready." Mario smiles at her, a burst of affection for this girl in front of him threatening to take over him. "He takes the cake for most caring, by the way," she adds, taking another sip of her tea.

 

"What?"

 

"Marco," Lisa explains. "A fuckboy he might be, but he's also such a mother-hen, it's slightly creepy." Mario only smiles and flushes, lowering his head to hide his face. "And he's not interested in Caro anymore," she adds. "Not since she cheated on him with his then-roommate, Marcel." 

 

Mario looks back up at Lisa, quietly letting it all sink in. Marco's girlfriend cheated on him. She betrayed him. Maybe they're not so different, after all. Except that Marco has clearly forgiven her. Mario still can't even think about his parents. Or Fabian.

 

"Thomas," he mumbles eventually, shaking himself out of it.

 

"What?"

 

"The mother-hen on our side," he explains. "Thomas."

 

Lisa only nods, her smile a little wider.

* * *

 

_Buuuzz. Buuuzz. Buuuzz._

 

Mario startles out of his sleep suddenly when he registers the familiar sound echoing in his room, blinking his eyes repeatedly a few times. He turns to look at the nightstand where his phone is still vibrating frantically, the small light partially illuminating the dim room. It takes his body another few seconds to react, but he eventually reaches for his phone to look at the caller ID.

 

Felix.

 

Mario sighs as he glances at the small clock on the top of his screen. It's only eight in the morning, way too early for Felix to be calling. But no matter how many times he's told him to try to keep the calls coming after ten, Felix seems insistent on waking him up at the crack of dawn every so often. 

 

"Hey Felix," he mumbles into the device when he has it pressed to his ear, his voice thick with sleep. He blinks another few times, trying to adjust to the room, ultimately rubbing his eyes when they refuse to stay open. 

 

"I woke you up, didn't I?" Felix says on the other line, something apologetic in his tone, and Mario can easily imagine his brother's flushed face as he's surely wincing guiltily right now. 

 

"Nah, man," Mario shrugs him off, pulling the blankets off himself and making to get up. There's no way he's falling back asleep now, no matter how much he tries. "I love getting up this early.”

 

"Well then," Felix says teasingly. "You're welcome."

 

Mario laughs a little to himself as he gets out of bed, stretching once he's up. 

 

"So, what's up?" He asks, checking his reflection in the mirror. He's wearing nothing but some dark boxers, a t-shirt - bless whoever installed central heating in his apartment - and some white socks. He runs his fingers through his messy hair for a second, only managing to make it worse, before he sighs and gives up reluctantly.

 

"I don't know, I just miss you, I guess," Felix mumbles on the other end of the line, and Mario knows for a fact his brother is running his fingers through his hair, much like Mario did only seconds ago.

 

"I miss you too," Mario says honestly, patiently waiting for Felix to continue. While he doesn't doubt the truth in his words, he knows there's another reason he's calling. Otherwise he would've waited a little longer. 

 

"We had scouts from the NT at our last game," Felix tells him and Mario smiles to himself. He didn't have to make a lot of efforts to get him to spill, did he? "Coach says they were very impressed with me. Told me if I keep it up they might want me when I'm eligible."

 

"Are you serious?" Mario nearly yells, feeling himself overcome with pride. He knew Felix was good, he just didn't know exactly _how_ good. He tries not to frown when he remembers that he hasn't been around to see any of it. "That's amazing, Felix," he continues, trying to push the dark thoughts out of his mind as he starts walking out of his bedroom. "I'm so proud of you," he adds, noticing a figure in his living room and coming to a sudden halt when he realizes who it is. 

 

 _Marco_. 

 

What is it with this boy's knack of showing up right when Mario least expects it? As it is right now, he's sitting smack in the middle of Mario's living room couch, a laptop propped up on his lap. 

 

Mario feels himself pale as he stands frozen to his spot, a million and one thoughts running through his mind as he tries to process this completely unexpected development.

 

He thinks he can hear Felix still babbling in his ear, but he's too hung up on the fact that Marco is in his damn living room to actually listen to what his brother is saying. Funnily enough, Marco chooses that exact moment to realize there's someone else in the room with him, looking up from his computer screen at the intruder.

 

 _Wait_. Does he constitute as an intruder when it's his own living room and Marco is actually the guest? Mario has no time to really think about it because Marco's face suddenly lights up with a smile, his half-crooked grin on full display as Mario stares dumbly at him with the phone pressed to his ear, his mouth hanging open and his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. 

 

"Mario?" Felix says in his ear, his voice louder than before, a clear effort to grab his attention.

 

"Sorry, Felix. I didn't get any of that," he admits, wincing slightly and trying to keep from flushing a darker shade of red, rearranging his features as close to a smile as he knows how to right now. 

 

He's pretty sure he looks more pained than happy to see Marco, which is not a complete lie because he just realized he's wearing boxers and it's the morning and Marco's there with his very pretty hair and his very infuriating smile. So yes, it pains him to see Marco right now, because he's afraid of what kind of reaction his body might want to make. 

 

"I said I'm worried about how mum and dad are gonna take it. I don't want them to ruin this for me," Felix repeats, and Mario sighs tiredly. He doesn't have to worry about his body anymore, that's for sure. It drains him to think about how worried Felix is all the time now.

 

"Well, what does Fabian think?" He tries, his eyes never leaving Marco. The latter seems to be looking everywhere but at Mario now, a poor attempt at giving Mario some semblance of privacy. 

 

There's a bitterness Mario feels whenever he mentions his brother, and even with his mind half preoccupied with the boy in front of him, Mario can still feel the sharp edges of anger and longing dig in his stomach. The sad truth of it is, it doesn't matter how badly Fabian betrayed him, he still misses him. He still hopes he will do better by Felix. And this hope pisses Mario off more than anything else.

 

"I don't know, Mario," Felix groans, a sour edge to his voice. "You know I don't talk to him about these things. Not anymore. Not since you left."

 

Yes, he knows. He just wishes it was different. For the both of them.

 

"Alright, well, don't worry about it for now," he tells him. "You keep playing the way you're playing, and we'll figure it out when the time comes." He hopes more than anything in the world that he can keep this promise.

 

"Okay," Felix resigns. "Thanks, Mar," he adds, his voice a little lower. "Anyway, the last bell just sounded, I gotta run to class." His voice now sounds a little strained and jumpy, like he's running.

 

"Bye, Felix. Don't do anything stupid."

 

"I'll try not to," he teases. "Talk to you later."

 

The phone beeps in his ear, and Mario stands quietly for a minute after he hangs up, trying to think of where to go from here. After all, he's still in his living room, and Marco is still very much there. 

 

Marco looks up at him right on cue, and Mario doesn't miss the way his eyes linger on his body for a second before they meet his own again.

 

He's being blatantly checked out in his own living room, and while he's trying very hard to be offended right now, it's almost impossible when Marco's looking at him with _those_ eyes and smirking at him with _that_ mouth.

 

"Hi," Marco finally says, his eyes not leaving Mario, and it's funny how that little word can make Mario feel so many things. 

 

"Hi," Mario manages to get out, swallowing thickly.

 

"So, you're probably wondering what I'm doing here in your living room," Marco says quickly, and Mario feels himself relax a bit, his smile coming easier now.

 

"I'll be honest," he muses, "the thought did cross my mind."

 

Marco chuckles delightedly and Mario would high-five himself if he was alone.

 

"In all fairness, it is not my fault," Marco warns, raising his eyebrows and moving his laptop to the side. "I was supposed to meet David at Thiago's this morning. I have some research to do for a class and David said I could come do it at Thiago's place, since their plans included some cramming as well," Marco explains, and Mario tries very hard to concentrate on Marco's words and not at the way his mouth moves. "Unfortunately, they've apparently gotten into some strenuous activity last night which involved breaking Thiago's router," he continues, and Mario barks a laugh.

 

"No!" Mario shrieks between laughs, and Marco chuckles along with him.

 

"Yes," Marco insists. "I did not ask them to go into details because I did not want my ears to bleed, so yeah. Long story short, I was going to go down and study in one of the nearby cafes, because I need wifi, but Montana took pity on me and told me I could just use your place instead. She let me in before she left."

 

"So you're here for my wifi," Mario teases slowly. Marco nods mutely, his eyes nearly disappearing into his face as his smile widens. "And here I thought you were just here for my charming company."

 

Marco barks a laugh which makes Mario smile, his good mood returning phenomenally fast.

 

"Well, now that you've mentioned it..." Marco says, quirking his head to the side and peering at Mario.

 

"Stop sucking up, Reus, it's not a good look on you," Mario warns, raising his eyebrows and earning another chuckle off the boy. "Alright," Mario continues after a minute, hugging himself self-consciously. "Well, would you like some breakfast?"  

 

"Oh." Marco sounds surprised, to say the least, his eyebrows higher and his mouth in a perfect circle. "No, I was just gonna grab some breakfast when I leave in a bit. I have some more studying to do today, so I can't stay for long."

 

"Sure," Mario nods, trying very hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He can feel the tips of his ears flushing uncomfortably, a lump in his throat.

 

They're both silent for a moment, as Mario tries to get his feet to move so he can leave this room. Nothing happens.

 

"You're welcome to join," Marco says after a moment, his voice a little lower than before, his eyebrows knitted together like he's having an internal battle. 

 

There it is.

 

"Nah, that's okay," Mario dismisses him, waving his hand. "You have to study, I don't wanna bother you."

 

"You won't bother me," Marco tells him hurriedly, like he doesn't want to miss a single second. "Not at all. It's not the textbook stuff, I have to do some observational work and I could use the company," he explains, something pleading in his eyes.

 

Mario hesitates. There's something in him that won't let him push this boy out no matter how hard he tries to.

 

"Are you sure?" He checks again, trying to look for a way out. If it's Marco who doesn't want him there, he can always say he tried.

 

"Absolutely." Marco seems to be terrified of Mario changing his mind. "I'd really love the company."

 

Mario smiles shyly, jumping from one foot to the other, before he looks back at Marco.

 

"Let me just get cleaned up and we'll go."

 

* * *

 

It takes Mario forever to finish his damn shower. Or maybe not forever, but way longer than necessary, seeing as he spends most of the time in there coming up with scenario after scenario of how his day with Marco would go, to the point that he forgets that he's supposed to be rinsing the shampoo off his hair multiple times. He's also pretty sure he applies twice as much shampoo as necessary, but it doesn't matter.

 

His distracting nervousness follows him out of the shower and into his bedroom. He takes forever to pick out an outfit - everything from a penguin suit to thermal gear is thrown around the room by the time he makes up his mind - and he ends up with a pair of dark jeans and a simple black t-shirt. It's still cold outside, so he throws a purple hoodie and a beanie on and makes quick work of tying his white high tops.

 

Marco's packing his laptop into its sleeve by the time Mario makes it out of his room, and they just stand there, awkwardly staring at one another for a second before Mario clears his throat and grabs his keys over the counter.

 

The walk to wherever they're going is uncomfortably silent at first, so much so that the only thing Mario can hear is the sound of his sneakers squeaking against the tarmac. He can feel his body thrumming with energy, his hands twitching nervously as his brain overworks itself trying to find something to say. Marco seems calmer than he is, Mario notices, his steps a lot less jumpy and his posture more relaxed. His laptop dangles from his shoulder, his denim shirt creasing a little under the strap, tattoos peaking from below his rolled up sleeves. 

 

Marco takes a left at the next intersection, and Mario finally realizes where they're going. 

 

He winces a little as they walk closer to the bakery, mentally kicking himself for not trusting himself in the first place. Maybe Marco did mean that he wanted to go with him when he gave him the coupon.

 

"I, um, kinda spent it," Mario mutters, his voice too low and too rushed for anyone to understand, and Marco turns to look at him, his face almost blank as he takes him in.

 

"What?" He asks, inching closer to Mario as they keep walking. "Sorry, I didn't get that."

 

"The coupon," Mario tries, his voice a little louder, looking away from Marco and turning his head to nod at the bakery. "I already used it," he continues, feeling himself blush. "With Lisa," he adds hurriedly, turning his head to look back at Marco, feeling the need to clarify that. He wants to kick himself some more for worrying that Marco might think he invited a date or something for breakfast.

 

"Oh," Marco chuckles lightly, running his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, I know. Lisa told me," he tells him, his crooked smile making an appearance, and they're close enough now that it kind of knocks the breath out of Mario. "I'm not here because I think there's free food in it for me. I'm here because I actually like this place. A lot."

 

Mario grins, nodding his head, feeling himself start to relax. Maybe he shouldn't make such a big deal out of this. Marco and he are sort of friends. They can go out and have breakfast together. There's nothing to calculate here. If this was Thomas or Montana or even Ann, he wouldn't be questioning any of it.

 

 _But you didn’t sleep with any of them_ , his mind supplies unhelpfully. _Shut up._

 

He walks into the small shop in front of Marco, glaring at the cashier as he orders himself a buttered pretzel and some coffee. He realizes he’s terrifying the girl after a while, and runs a hand over his face, almost forcing the crease between his eyes away as he waits for Marco to place his order as well. They pay for their food and grab their trays when they're ready, walking out onto the storefront and placing their trays on the same tiny corner table Mario sat at with Lisa the last time he was here. He walks over to the nearby coffee station, grabs some tissues and a few hundred packets of brown sugar before he walks back to his table. 

 

He uncaps the lid of his styrofoam cup when he's settled, scooping the bit of foam stuck to the roof of the lid with his finger and licking it, before he throws the lid to the side. He tears one packet of sugar before emptying its contents into the cup, the brown particles getting stuck in the thick cream as they push to sink to the bottom of the cup. He's emptying his third packet when he tears his eyes away from the cup to look at Marco, and he feels himself flush when he finds the other boy's eyes on him, an amused smile on his lips as he settles back into his seat to watch Mario continue his meticulous process.

 

"What?" Mario asks a few moments later when Marco's eyes seem to still be taking him in, his cheeks on fire as he tries, futilely, to keep the other boy's gaze from affecting him. 

 

"Nothing, nothing," Marco muses, chuckling lightly and uncapping the lid of his own cup. He empties half a packet of sugar in the thin black liquid before taking a sip and leaning back into his chair.

 

Mario wrinkles his nose unattractively at the surely bitter taste, emptying another packet into his cup for good measure.

 

"That can't taste good," he comments absently, his voice low enough to suggest it's more to himself than anything else, but Marco laughs regardless, straightening in his seat and tearing a piece of his pretzel.

 

"And yours does?" He shoots back, raising one of his eyebrows and grinning as he chews on his food. "There's enough sugar in there to feed a small village."

 

"Coffee tastes disgusting," Mario defends lamely, grabbing the discarded paper packets and grouping them in the middle of the small table. There's no spoon in sight so he uses his fork to stir his drink instead, licking the creamer off when he's done. 

 

Marco looks a little unsettled when Mario looks back up at him, swallowing thickly as his eyes trace Mario's face. Mario clears his throat nervously, taking a sip of his sweetened coffee and looking rather satisfied when he finds the taste of the sweetener almost masks that of the coffee beans.

 

"If you don't like coffee, then how about you just don't order it?" Marco suggests after a minute, taking another bite out of his pretzel and looking up at Mario.

 

"I like coffee!" Mario protests, his voice high and undignified as he, too, tears a piece of his breakfast. "I just don't like it to be very bitter," he adds, lowering his voice a bit. "Or like, too strong," he continues, his voice even lower than before. "And I like cream and sugar a lot more..." He trails off, nearly a whisper by now.

 

Marco laughs in front of him, something twinkling in his eyes as he looks at Mario, and it's infectious, the way his forehead creases and his eyes wrinkle at the corners, so much so that Mario finds himself chuckling along, a bashful smile on his face. 

 

"You seem to be fine with pretzels, though," Marco says after a moment, nodding at the half-eaten dough on Mario's plate.

 

"More than fine with pretzels," Mario reassures, nodding his head and sighing happily as he throws another piece of buttered goodness into his mouth. "Fabian used to say I could survive literally anywhere as long as pretzels were made available to me."

 

"Fabian?" Marco asks, looking like he's making an effort to sound casual.

 

"My brother," Mario explains, something uncomfortable protesting in his stomach. 

 

"Oh," Marco says dumbly, smiling for a second before pulling himself together. "He still back in Dortmund?"

 

Mario looks at Marco, something contemplative in his eyes. He never talks about Fabian. Never mentions him or Dortmund or his family to anyone. But there's something about this boy, something about Marco and the way he's looking at him that makes him want to tell him everything. 

 

"Yeah, um, he is," Mario tells him, looking down at his food. "Him and Felix, um, my other brother. The one I was on the phone with this morning."

 

"Right," Marco nods, sipping on his coffee before he looks at Mario again. "You close to them?"

 

"Felix, yeah," Mario nods, flushing warmly as his brother's infectious smile assaults his memories. "He's like this, football wizard. And he's so funny without even trying. I don't think he even realizes just how great he is, but I make it a point to remind him every once in a while," he adds, his voice catching for a second as he thinks of his family.

 

Marco nods, smiling lightly as his eyes take Mario in, like he's trying to see through him, and Mario can't help but flicker his gaze to anywhere else. It’s unsettling, how much he wants him to succeed.

 

"And Fabian?" Marco asks after a minute, hesitation evident in his tone, like he somehow knows he's threading on thin ice.

 

Mario tries to swallow the pain he suddenly feels in his chest, suspiciously close to where his heart is.

 

"He's, um, yeah," he mumbles, tearing small pieces of his pretzel and throwing them around his plate to keep himself busy, his eyes focused on his task. "He's smart. Like freakishly so. Funny, too, but he knows he is, so it's different than Felix." He sighs, unable to stop himself, closing his eyes for only a second before looking up at Marco again. "We sort of had a falling out when I left Dortmund," Mario shrugs, trying to keep a steady voice. "I haven't really talked to him since."

 

"Sorry," Marco says after a moment, something genuine in his voice that tugs at Mario's heartstrings, and it's so relieving how Marco doesn't seem to be pushing Mario to say anything, how he's taking what he can get without expectation or judgment whatsoever.

 

"Thanks," Mario croaks, throwing another piece of his pretzel into his mouth. He takes his time chewing, looking up at Marco again, before he swallows. "So, what about you? Any brothers and sisters?"

 

"Yvonne and Melanie," Marco answers right away, his eyes shining with something that can only be interpreted as unbridled adoration. "Both older. Think I'm the most ridiculous thing to have ever walked this earth," he adds, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

 

"Well, you kinda are," Mario agrees, grateful for the distraction from his own family woes.

 

"Nice," Marco huffs, looking particularly unimpressed, and Mario giggles despite himself. "Real nice. Next time, please take a little more time before you agree."

 

"Sorry." Mario laughs, sounding anything but apologetic, and he feels his heart do a double take when Marco's grin makes an appearance. The last thing he wants to be doing is insulting the only guy he's ever really felt comfortable talking to. "What are they like?"

 

Marco looks at Mario for a moment, seemingly weighing something in his mind, before his smile widens a little.

 

"Ivy's the oldest in every sense of the word," Marco shrugs his shoulders, taking a sip of his coffee. "She always took care of me and Mel, always had the mothering gig down to a tee," he explains. "I've never met anyone who's this genuinely _good_. And I'm not saying that because she's my sister. But she can also be a real ball buster sometimes. Dragged me out of one too many parties when I was a kid. Even punched this kid in the face when he tried to sharpie-draw something on Mats' face when he was passed out once."

 

"Did she really?" Mario asks, already fond of this woman he's never met. He could've used someone like her when he was growing up.

 

"She did," Marco assures him, nodding happily. "The kid's jaw nearly broke," he adds, laughing along with Mario. "So it came to her very naturally when she had a kid of her own," he continues. "Not punching people, obviously," he clarifies unnecessarily, and Mario giggles again. "More like, being a mother. Her kid's name is Nico. He's five now, and possibly my favourite person in the world."

 

Mario nods, feeling an unexpected surge of affection for these people. He doesn't know if it's because of Marco's obvious love for them, or because they're associated with Marco, but it's not like it really matters. Some unreasonable part of him hopes that he can meet them, one day.

 

"And your other sister, Melanie?" Mario asks, partly because he wants to know more about her, but also because he needs to stop thinking about impossible things. 

 

"Is the one who dragged me to all those parties," Marco picks up, groaning into his coffee. "We came out to our parents together, which we were worried would kill them, in all honesty. Finding out not one, but both your kids are bi at the same time, is not something a lot of people can deal with. But they just shrugged and said okay before my mum told us she'd be making goulash for dinner. It was all so surreal," Marco remembers, and Mario feels an uncomfortable tightening in his stomach, unable to resist comparing his parents to Marco's folks. "We fucked up so much when we were kids, me and her," Marco continues, thankfully distracting Mario. "We used to skip school and go wait near the Signal Iduna, hoping we'd catch a glance of one of the players. Rosicky, maybe, or Dedé. By the time we actually found out they didn't train there, it was too late." Marco chuckles to himself.

 

"I actually met them," Mario tells Marco, the memory of that day when all the players from the senior team visited the youth academy still very vivid in his mind. 

 

Marco chokes on his drink, spluttering the brown liquid unattractively on the table in front of him, quickly grabbing some tissues and wiping at the small drops. 

 

"Did you really?" He manages to ask once his coughing fit dies down and he's wiped everything clean.

 

"Yeah, they came to the academy when I played there," Mario shrugs, trying not to make a big deal out of it. It's hard, remembering what might've been. But then, weirdly enough, he looks up at Marco, the look of pure awe in his eyes, and something in him feels less damaged, less wounded. A realization that if he did get to continue playing football like he'd always planned, he might've never met Marco. It's a disturbing thought, and even more uncomfortable in its weight. He's always felt so bitter about his life, about how things have turned out for him, about his parents' betrayal. One boy cannot come and change that for him. "I've got a signed jersey somewhere in my closet," he adds casually, clearing his throat as he tries to chase the offending thoughts from his mind.

 

Marco smiles lightly, his eyes lingering on Mario's face, something foreign in the way he's looking at him, but not entirely uncomfortable. 

 

"You're gonna have to show me, sometime."

 

* * *

 

"Tierpark Hellabrunn. You've been going on all morning about this big project that you have to work on," Mario scoffs, eyeing the sign in front of him and then turning to look at Marco, feeling less than impressed.

 

It took a lot of time and energy for Marco to actually convince Mario to spend the day with him and help him with his project. The truth is, Mario had only half paid attention when they were still in the apartment, agreeing to go have breakfast with Marco, not realizing Marco had suggested they do something else after. Together. So when Marco reminded him of their post-breakfast plans, Mario had panicked and said no. Mario's pretty sure Marco had to resort to every trick he had up his sleeve to get him to go. Mario though, had actually been swayed halfway through Marco's tirade, the prospect of spending the entire day with him more exciting than anything he might've had planned. Still, he had feigned disinterest, if only to see the lengths Marco would go to in order to convince him to tag along. In the end, Marco had demonstrated an impressive case of the puppy eyes directed at Mario, and the latter found he wouldn't have been able to say no even if he'd wanted to. 

 

"I do have a big project," Marco insists, smiling next to Mario and bumping their shoulders together. 

 

"At the zoo. Your big project is at the zoo." Mario's pretty sure his eyebrows have disappeared in his hairline.

 

"Yes, it is," Marco insists again, pulling his laptop higher on his shoulder and walking towards the right, away from the entrance queue.

 

"Is this why you wouldn't tell me where we were going?" Mario asks, his voice whinier than he intends as he follows Marco hesitantly, feeling very much like a petulant child. "Because you knew I wouldn't want to come here?" 

 

"Why wouldn't you want to come here?" Marco wonders, raising his eyebrows and coming to halt in front of a closed blue steel door. 

 

There's a window in the stone wall to the left of the door, with glass so dirty Mario’s not sure it’s supposed to look out anywhere.

 

Marco peeks inside for a second, knocking on the window before turning his attention back to Mario. 

 

"Because it smells disgusting and is full of animal faeces?" Mario says matter-of-factly, staring down the boy in front of him. 

 

"It does not," Marco laughs lightly, leaning against the wall. The wall isn't the cleanest he's ever seen, and he can already see dust and grime stick to Marco's light grey hoodie. He's tempted to pull him away and dab at his clothes until he's clean. "There's squirrels at zoos. You look like a squirrel. You'd fit right in."

 

Marco's words effectively snap Mario out of his cleaning crises, and the next words fly out of his mouth before he can even think about them.

 

"Well, that says a lot more about you than it does about me. After all, you're attracted to me, which essentially means you have a thing for squirrels. Quite disturbing, if you ask me.”

 

Mario's eyes widen as he registers what he said, and he feels himself flush, ready for the ground to open up and swallow him whole, but Marco saves him the embarrassment when he barks an amused laugh next to him, eyes squinted and mouth wide open.

 

Mario giggles lightly at the infectious laugh, aware that his cheeks are probably too red to constitute as normal. He doesn't have time to dwell on that because the next minute, the rusty blue door swings open, a rather old man with greying hair and laugh lines at the corner of his eyes appearing in the doorway. 

 

"'Morning, Marco," the man greets, moving away to let them inside. He locks the door behind them once they're inside.

 

"Hey Oli," Marco smiles at the man, walking past him and standing inside the dimly lit shed they're now in. There's another door on the other side of the small room, wide open, the sun filtering in. 

 

"I see you've got company," the old man - Oli - comments, smiling kindly at Mario. 

 

"I'm Mario," Mario's quick to introduce himself, offering a smile and a hand. Oliver looks at him for a second before taking his hand in both of his, squeezing Mario's palms, causing an unexpected warmth to spread through his body. 

 

"He's a keeper," he says casually, turning to look at Marco but keeping Mario's hand in his, and Mario nearly chokes.

 

Marco only laughs lightly, nodding his head at Oli before moving towards a small closet in the corner of the shed.

 

"He’s not mine to keep, Oli," he remarks casually, like Mario's not even there, opening the closet and placing his laptop inside before closing it. "We're just friends. But I'll keep that it mind," he adds, obviously trying to appease the man's mind.

 

"You do that," Oli insists, finally letting go of Mario and moving to disappear outside the open door. Marco looks at Mario for a beat longer before following the man outside.

 

"Come on," he mumbles, reaching for Mario's hand on his way out, and Mario is too dumbfounded to do anything but take it. He lets go when they're outside, Oli moving to lock the door behind them. 

 

"If I'm not here when you get back, come find me in the canteen," the old man tells Marco, pulling what looks like a lanyard from his pocket and handing it to Marco, smiling at him as he starts walking away. "It was nice meeting you Mario. I hope to see you again," he adds, before turning completely and leaving them alone.

 

They're both silent for a moment, the awkwardness of the last few minutes catching up to them, and Mario feels the need to fill said silence really fast, because he's not sure how much more of it he can take.

 

"Do you work here, or something?" He eventually asks, taking a step closer towards Marco, who only lowers his head and smiles as he stuffs the lanyard into his pocket.

 

"Or something," he mumbles, keeping his hands in his pockets and bumping Mario's shoulder with his, before he starts walking slowly. Mario keeps up with him silently, patiently waiting for him to explain. "I'm taking Comparative Psych as an elective this semester." Mario only stares at him dumbly, because if he honestly expects him to understand what he just said, then he's definitely got another thing coming. "It's this course where I get to study animal behaviour and analyze patterns, and like, contrast and compare them to human traits..." Marco trails off. "Basically, all you need to know is I've been observing some apes at this zoo for a while now. And I have to do it every couple of days until I have enough analysis to submit a proper report."

 

"O...kay?"

 

They're here to watch the apes. Fun. 

 

Before he can dwell on that thought, he notices a few people gathered in front of a concessions stand, and he stops in his tracks, staring at it.

 

"Do you want something?" Marco asks, his crooked smile directed at Mario, and there's something so soft in the way he's looking at him, it sort of unhinges Mario. He chooses to ignore it. "I did promise I'd buy you all the food you wanted if you agreed to come with me."  

 

Mario doesn't say anything, only points at the machine behind the counter. It's one of those things that spew those ice slushy drinks, the ones that usually dye your tongue in all sorts of weird colours.

 

"Ugh," Marco grimaces, a disgusted look on his face. "How can you even like these things? They're full of food colouring and they taste like cough syrup."

 

"Uh-huh, yes," Mario nods, walking past Marco and towards the stand. He stops right in front of the high counter, waiting for the redheaded employee to make her way over to him. "I'll have a big blueberry slushy, please," he tells her once she's there, smiling at her and turning to raise his eyebrows at Marco. The other boy only grins widely, fishing for his wallet.

 

"Can you add a couple bags of peanuts to the tab?" Marco tells her, handing her some bills once she comes back with the blue drink. She smiles and nods, fishing behind the counter for the packets, and handing them to Marco along with his change. 

 

They walk in silence after that, Mario chewing on his straw and Marco nibbling on some peanuts. Every once in a while, Marco bumps Mario's shoulder and presses a peanut into his palm, his fingers lingering on Mario's hand for longer than necessary, and they both always giggle lightly after, a thrilling rush of familiarity passing through them both.

 

At one point, an elephant struts by them - here's something Mario never thought he would say - and leaves an unpleasant surprise on his way, causing Mario to let out an obnoxiously loud "ha!" as he points at the incriminating and disgusting evidence. Marco laughs loudly, his shoulders shaking and his guffaws echoing around the open zoo, and Mario can't stop from laughing along with him. 

 

They continue their walk towards wherever Marco's taking them quietly after that, Mario slurping on his sugary drink and Marco sneaking glances at him every now and then, a content smile on his face, and it just amazes Mario how _completely normal_  it feels, their hands brushing as they swing between them, smiles wide and eyes bright against the sun. It makes him giddy and excited all at once, so much so that he can nearly feel himself thrumming with energy, his body shivering despite the unseasonal warmth in the air. 

 

They walk a few more steps before Marco comes to a sudden halt, tugging on Mario's wrist. He drags him towards a nearby bench, only letting go of him when they're right in front of it, using the park bench as a step ladder and climbing onto the rocky wall behind it. He perches himself on top of it, smiling down at Mario as he pulls something out of his pocket. Mario's wrist tingles from Marco's lingering touch, his heart hammering and his stomach doing funny things as he stares at the other boy.

 

"Come on," Marco urges, patting the spot next to him and flipping through a small notebook. 

 

Mario hesitates for only a moment before he hands Marco his drink and climbs up the bench, lifting himself higher until he can fully climb the wall. He's surprised to find the surface is much wider than he imagines, more like a narrow hill that stretches in the middle of one long trail, on the sides of which wide cages and habitats are lined up with all sorts of animals. 

 

He dusts his clothes once he's settled, taking a quick look around and reaching across Marco for his drink, before he turns to stare in front of him. The monkey cage - if he can call it that, it's actually bigger than his apartment - is visible from his vantage point, the small crowd gathered in front of it clearly fascinated by the creatures in it.

 

"Are we allowed to be up here?" He asks after a moment, chewing on his straw and peering over at Marco. 

 

Marco's hair looks blonder from this angle, tiny flecks of gold dusting his chin, a spray of freckles Mario has never noticed before visible across his cheekbone. His eyes are greener when he looks at him, his dimples more defined and the wrinkles on the corners of his eyes spreading an unexpected warmth through Mario. It's only unsettling in its familiarity, in how little Mario is actually unsettled by it. 

 

"Not technically," Marco answers softly, pulling Mario out of his thoughts. He pops a peanut into his mouth before tugging on Mario's wrist until the other boy opens his palm. He empties the last of the nuts into it. "But Oli is," he continues, pulling the lanyard out of his pocket and handing it to Mario. "Everyone here is really nice, and they apparently get a lot of students working on these kinds of projects," Marco shrugs, turning back to look at the monkey cage. "I talked to the zoo manager early on, explained that I needed to be near the cages to observe, but not close enough that the apes would be constantly aware of my presence. And the bench wouldn't do because I can't actually see anything when people are standing right in front of them."

 

"So they just went 'yeah, sure, climb the wall?'" Mario chuckles, eating the offered peanuts, but keeping his palm open between the two of them, half on Marco's thigh, in case the other boy wanted to have some. 

 

"And they gave me a lanyard for it," Marco adds, nodding as he laughs along. "Basically, they don't want anyone getting any ideas," he explains after a moment. "So if any kids try to climb the wall, I can just flash 'em my badge, FBI style, and tell them to bugger off."

 

"Thrilling stuff," Mario snickers, turning his head to look at the animals.

 

There's four of them, Mario can see, of different sizes and species, and when the visitors in front of the cage finally move along, Mario can see every single one of them more clearly. 

 

They're kinda burly, and bigger than Mario expects, two of them with longer fur that's more of a rust colour, so long that when they stretch their arms, their fur trails the muddy ground. The other two share a darker shade of brown. 

 

"The one in the back," Marco starts, following Mario's line of sight. "With the bored look on her face. That's Emma. The only female in the group, and definitely the intellectual between the four." 

 

"The intellectual?" Mario scoffs, raising his eyebrows.

 

"Yep," Marco confirms, seemingly unaffected by Mario's reaction. "I mean, orangutans are already scary smart to begin with, but Emma is unusually perceptive, even among her specie. She will only really approach you if you've got any sort of reading material." He stops for a minute, jotting some notes into his notebook, Mario resisting the urge to peer over his arm and read his messy scrawl. "Notice how she has patches of lighter fur across her chest?" He asks, his voice even softer now, moving closer to him, and Mario swallows audibly. "It's almost yellow is some places. They call her the bee." 

 

"Is that common for orangutans?" Mario manages to ask, his voice throaty at the sudden proximity, but he's surprised to find he's genuinely curious. 

 

"Not that I know," Marco answers, seemingly unperturbed by how close he and Mario are now, their shoulders brushing. "I mean, I'm in no way an expert, but I've read enough to learn it's not." He pulls away slightly, clearing his throat before he continues. "The one that's closest to Emma in the back, that's Berni. He's a hulk of a chimp, bigger than most I've seen. He has absolutely no perception of his real size, though. I've seen him try to get Hennes, the small one over there, to give him a piggy back ride on more than one occasion. And Hennes is like half his size. Plus, Berni will only approach you if you've got food on you."

 

"He reminds me of myself," Mario comments absently and Marco chuckles next to him. His smile widens when Marco leans over to nudge him with his shoulder, his cheeks hurting from the near-constant smile on his face.

 

"The other orangutan in the cage, the smaller one, that's Hennes," Marco picks up when he calms down. "He's pretty harmless, but he headbutts anything and everything in sight. And finally, Erwin, the real weirdo of the bunch, and I'm not saying that because he has an abnormally large nose. Nope, he's weird because he's always smiling. _Always_. Notice how he's smiling right now?"

 

"He kinda looks high," Mario shrugs, and Marco chuckles next to him.

 

"Yeah, he does," Marco agrees, nodding his head.

 

"Okay," Mario says after a moment, looking at Marco again. "So, what you're telling me is if I go over to them right now, you can tell how each of them will react?"

 

"Pretty much, yeah," Marco nods. "Take your disgusting cough syrup and go stand in front of the cage. Berni will immediately warm up to you and Hennes will offer you a perfect view of his head. Emma won't react and Erwin will probably just linger in the back with his dumb smile."

 

Mario stares at Marco for a second longer before squeezing his fingers and jumping off the edge. He turns back for a second once he's on the bench, grabs his drink and jumps onto the ground. He wanders slowly towards the cage where the monkeys are, turning his head back to look at Marco for a moment. He's looking right back at him from his perch up there, a smile on his face, and it makes Mario's stomach tighten. 

 

He shakes his head slightly when he turns back, taking his sweet time before stopping right in front of the monkeys.

 

Sure enough, as soon as Mario's there, several things happen at once: Berni lurches to the front of the cage with such intensity that Mario can't help but take a step back, the chimpanzee's fur peeking out of the bars as he tries to reach for Mario's drink, a dumb look on his face. Hennes starts wildly headbutting the bars next to him, while Emma stays back and stares, unamused, at the boy in front of her, and Erwin just smiles, unseeing. 

 

Mario looks back at Marco to find him sniggering, jotting down something in his notebook. Mario raises an eyebrow silently at him, before walking back towards him. He steps onto the bench wordlessly, moving so that he's standing right in front of Marco, the boy's legs dangling on either side of him, before he lifts his arms to rest his elbows on Marco's knees. Marco looks up, startled, their sudden proximity clearly not something he was prepared for.

 

"Mario...?" He mutters, unsure, swallowing thickly as he tries to figure out what to do here.

 

Mario's tempted to laugh at the confused look on his face, ridiculously happy to see Marco losing his composure like that. He doesn't, though, only leaning over him to place his drink back next to his thigh, before wrapping his finger around the small notebook and prying it away from Marco's fingers. The latter is too surprised to do anything but let him, his fingers slack under Mario's palm, and Mario lingers for a second longer before he pulls away and turns to get off the bench.

 

Marco's still staring at him when he turns back to head towards the cages, he can feel it, and when he looks up, he sees Emma's curiosity already piqued, her eyes focused on the item in Mario's hand. Sure enough, she gets up and walks over to the bars, right in front of Mario when he's there. Hennes is still attacking everything in sight with his head next to her, while Berni walks away and lies down next to Erwin in the back.

 

"Emma looks like she really wants something to read," he remarks casually when he turns back to look at Marco, a thrill taking over him. "You don't really need that, do you, Marco?" He asks innocently, waving the notebook carelessly close to the cage.

 

"No!" Marco yelps suddenly, coming to his senses and jumping off the edge and onto the bench. He stumbles to the ground before he hurriedly closes the distance between him and Mario, his hand reaching for the notebook, but Mario removes his own right on time. "Mario, I really need those notes," Marco begs as he tries to pry the notebook out of Mario's fingers, wrapping his arms firmly around him in an effort to reach for it. Mario giggles lightly, stuffing the notebook in his back pocket, and when Marco tries to reach for it, Mario slaps his hand away. Marco pulls away slightly, he cheeks flushed and a hesitant smile on his face. "Come on, Mario, this is not funny," he says, the smile on his face belying his words. "I really need those notes."

 

"Do you? Do you really?" Mario asks, furrowing his brow, a mock serious look on his face, and Marco's jaw sets suddenly.

 

He walks closer over to Mario, so close their face are only centimetres away from one another, leaning towards the left, his lips ghosting Mario's cheek. Mario's breath catches in his throat, his smile suddenly gone from his face, his fingers closing on the soft fabric of Marco's hoodie, steadying himself by holding onto his arms.

 

"I really, really do," Marco whispers huskily in his ear, reaching behind him and pulling the notebook out of his pocket swiftly. He presses his lips to Mario's cheek, leaving a soft kiss there, before pulling completely away and walking back a few steps.

 

Mario can feel the blush on his face, the heat coupled with the tightening in his stomach suddenly too much, and he shivers lightly as he tries to keep it together. 

 

"What's-, um, Emma gonna read now?" He finally asks, his voice low and slightly shaky, and Marco smiles in front of him. 

 

"This," he says, leaning down and picking up a stray zoo pamphlet off the floor.

 

He walks closer to Mario, handing it to him and nodding towards the cage.

 

Mario looks at him for a little longer, before he turns to look at Emma. He hesitates for a moment, his hand shaking as he slowly reaches for her, the pamphlet directed at her.

 

Emma takes the offered brochure, cooing lightly at him, before she retreats into the cage, flipping through the green paper.

 

"I think she likes you," Marco comments offhandedly, smiling secretly at Mario. 

 

"Yeah," Mario replies, his eyes never leaving Marco's. "Yeah, I like her too."

 

* * *

 

"So, let me get this straight: you spent the entire day with him. Breakfast and lunch. And dinner, if you consider the fact that you guys went back to the pub together in time for your shift and his gig. And I'm meant to believe nothing happened?"

 

Montana raises her eyebrows at Mario, or at least he thinks she does. She's lying on her side in front of him, so this angle kind of always skews his outlook on things. They just got back from their shift at the pub about half an hour ago. The place was particularly rowdy tonight, with the band's weekly gig drawing more crowds each week. 

 

André and Thomas didn't come home with them, heading to some party across town with Ann and Lisa and Marco and some guy he picked up at the gig. Mario tries not to focus on the bitter taste in his mouth when he thinks about that.

 

Mario and Montana had passed on the party, making their way home together with Jo and Auba, and holing themselves in Montana's room as soon as they made it there. 

 

"Nothing did happen," Mario insists, sighing deeply. He thinks about Marco's lips lingering on his face, and his knee knocking Mario's own every few minutes after they climbed back to perch themselves off the ledge. He thinks about the sun in his eyes when they left the zoo and wandered around the park, about the way the backs of their hands kept brushing as they walked closely together. "We slept together once and that was that. It doesn't mean anything anymore, we're just friends," Mario tries to reason, closing his eyes and willing Marco's smile to leave his thoughts. "You and André used to spend most days together," Mario tries, almost regretting it when Montana pulls on her closed off mask. "Doesn't mean things happened between you too."

 

"It's different with André," Montana argues quickly, but her voice has no real bite in it. 

 

“I’m not trying to push you. I know everyone is, but I’m not. I just wish you would admit that it's really, really not," Mario tells her, his fingers reaching for hers under the blanket. 

 

"Yeah, me too," Montana mutters, her eyes misting with something before she looks back at Mario, the mask back on. "This isn't about me and André, though."

 

"I know," Mario groans, rolling his eyes. "It's about me and Marco. The same Marco who picked up a guy tonight. While I was there. There's really nothing to talk about, Monty." 

 

"You know, he asked you out and you turned him down," Montana reminds him, squeezing his fingers. "Stop acting so salty that he's trying to distract himself with other people. And keep in mind that they're just distractions. I know Marco. I've seen the way he looks at you, Mar. He'd leave it all behind if you asked him to."

 

"How about this," Mario says after a minute. "You figure out your André situation, and I'll figure out my Marco situation."

 

"There's nothing to figure out, Mario," Montana tries, sighing tiredly. "He's with Ann."

 

"Keep in mind that she's just a distraction," he tells her, smiling lightly. "I know André. I've seen the way he looks at you. He'd leave it all behind if you just asked him."

 

"You're a real dickhead," Montana shoots at him, chuckling at his attempt at getting through to her.

 

"Likewise.”

 

Montana stares at him, and Mario can see the gears in her head working overtime.

 

"Alright," she says after a minute, a resolved look on her face. "You've got yourself a deal."

 

* * *

 

Neither of them actually sorts anything out the next week. Or the next month for that matter. 

 

But somehow, it's sort of easy to spend time with Marco after that. It becomes easier to laugh at his dumb jokes, less embarrassing to be caught staring at him for a little too long, and less awkward for Mario to reach out and smooth Marco's locks back into place when they're acting out. 

 

He can actually physically feel Marco growing on him, his stupid quirks and dumb flannel and long limbs enveloping Mario in an unexpected warmth every time he sees or thinks about him. 

 

It doesn't scare him as much when Marco shows up in his apartment unannounced, doesn't freak him out as much when their trips to the zoo become a weekly thing. 

 

What does throw him off a little, however, is Marco's constant need to hook up with someone new at the pub nearly every other week. It's even more unsettling in the fact that Marco spends nearly his entire time outside of that with Mario, only going home with someone else, like he's got a point to prove. What that point is or who exactly he's trying to prove it to, Mario has no idea. 

  

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

It's Ann's idea. Or Benni's. But mostly Ann's.

 

Mario though, he still blames Benni. After all, he’s the one who actually agrees to close down the pub for an entire week so that the whole group can "vacation" in a cabin in fucking Slovenia. Mario really doesn't understand why he's being forced to go all the way to Slovenia to spend time in the middle of a forest next to a dirty swamp. What’s so great about Slovenia anyway?

 

The worst part is, all it takes to convince Benni is for Mats to look at him with _those_ eyes. 

 

Mario gets it, okay? This is one of the perks of owning a business, being able to do as you please with said business, because it's _yours_. And Mats is an attractive man, he really is, complete with smouldering eyes, an impressive mane of hair, and godlike features, and he's Benni's not-so ex, and Mario absolutely expects Benni to agree to the trip. After all, Mario and Montana can surely handle the pub without Benni for a week, they’ve done it before. But to actually agree to _close the pub for an entire week_ so that they can go with them? What sort of powers does Mats Hummels possess? 

 

Mario doesn't really know, but he is now certain of one thing: he never wants to find out. Because if dragging him to Slovenia is what Mats will do because he _likes_ him, then he does not want to stick around to find out what he'll do when he _doesn’t_. 

 

Stupid Benni, with his stupid long, thinning hair and his dumb lovesick eyes.

 

He might be overreacting a bit, Mario knows that, and the truth is, he doesn't actually know _why_ he's dreading this trip so much. All the signs point to it being a happy event: his friends are all done with their finals, it's June, they're celebrating Marco, Montana, Auba, David and his birthday all at the same time – their very own miniature baby boom, apparently - and he gets to not work for an entire week. Plus, to be completely fair, the company could be a lot worse. 

 

It makes little to no sense, then, for him to be this grumpy about the trip, a fact that makes him even grumpier about it all.

 

It's seven in the morning and he's on the sidewalk in front of his building waiting for André and Montana to finally make their way down. He's got a duffel bag slung on his shoulder, sunglasses perched on his nose, and Montana and André apparently have no intention of actually finishing within this decade.

 

He sighs for possibly the millionth time in under twelve minutes, turning his eyes to look at David, Thiago, Lisa and Thomas camped out on the sidewalk a little further in the back. They're all silently sipping on their coffees - well, silent for the most part, it's a group that includes Thomas, after all - as they watch Mario pace around anxiously. 

 

He hears a laugh booming way too loud for this early, and he looks up in time to see Marco, Auba and Jo rounding the corner, towing their bags with wide smiles on their faces - even Jo - and coffee cups in hands.

 

Mario will never admit it to anyone, but in that moment he actually feels the metaphorical cloud hanging over him get chased away, replaced by something significantly lighter. 

 

Auba attacks him in a hug as soon as he's close enough, wrapping his arms tightly around him and Mario can't do anything but laugh as he rides it out, ruffling Jo's hair when Auba loosens his grip on him, and mumbling a greeting when he's left relatively alone with Marco. 

 

"Morning, Sunny," Marco beams at him, and Mario forgets why he was so excited about seeing Marco. He _hates_ that nickname. 

 

The first time Marco used it was two weeks earlier, when Mario and Marco were hanging out with David and Thiago in the latter's apartment. Mario was flipping through the TV channels and grumpily criticizing everything that was on as Marco proceeded to talk his ear off, when David casually asked him if he was this sunny all the time, at which point Marco actually _yelped_. Because he'd apparently "never heard a more accurate description of Mario Götze in his entire existence." Mario, very much unamused, tried to point out that up until a few months before, Mario wasn't even in his life, but it mostly fell on deaf ears as Marco continued to delight in the discovery of Mario's new nickname. 

 

Mario still hasn't forgiven David for it, nor Thiago by association. 

 

He takes a deep breath, willing himself not to take the bait. Marco's just calling him Sunny to rile him up.

 

"Morning, douchebag," he replies lamely instead, trying to keep his composure as he mentally kicks himself in the shins. Multiple times.

 

"Ouch."

 

The smirk on Marco's face is infuriatingly wide, his eyes positively glowing. It makes Mario want to punch him and kiss him all at the same time. But mostly punch him. And kiss him. 

 

_Ugh_.

 

"I thought you guys were meeting us at the train station?" He mutters eventually, ducking his head for a moment. He adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder a few times, fixing his glasses unnecessarily and trying to look anywhere but at Marco's eyes. Or his smile. His arms are not a very good idea either, it turns out, not with the way his tattoos are peaking form under the rolled up sleeves of his green plaid shirt and-- okay, this is not very productive. Basically, he tries to look anywhere but at Marco. 

 

"We were," Marco tells him, nodding his head in confirmation. "But then I texted Mülli, and he told me you guys were still here. And there's really no point in waiting for you at the station, we're taking the same train, so we just thought it be better to swing by and take the same bus to the train station." 

 

"Solid plan," Mario mumbles, sighing and turning to look forlornly at the building's entryway. "Would be a hell lot more solid if Montana and André actually decided to finish sometime this week," he adds, finally giving up and letting his duffel fall to the floor before squatting in the middle of the sidewalk next to it. 

 

He can feel Marco's eyes on him, and it makes the skin at the back of his neck prickle. 

 

"Hey," Marco starts tentatively after clearing his throat, kneeling down in front of Mario. "Are you okay?" He asks, trying to meet Mario's eyes, and it throws the latter off a little. "You seem a little _too_ stressed about your roommates being kinda late. We're going on a vacation. You're supposed to be doing the opposite of stressing."

 

They finally lock eyes for a moment, Marco looking at Mario like he's trying to read him. What scares Mario most though, is how much he wants Marco to be able to, so much so that he lets himself sink back until his butt is rested on the dirty sidewalk.

 

"Yeah," he reassures after a minute, his eyes never leaving Marco's. "Yeah," he repeats. "It's just-- this, um, it feels awfully familiar to me." He stops for a moment to take a deep breath, wondering if he wants to tell Marco so much about his life. Yes, he does. "Our parents took us on a trip to Berlin when I was twelve. It was the first time I'd been there," he explains. "Before we left, Fabian..." He trails off for a minute, smiling painfully as he ducks his eyes to the ground, blinking a few times before looking back up at Marco. "He took forever to get ready. I was so excited about the trip that it took me about five minutes before I was outside and ready, but Fabian had us waiting in the car for about half an hour while he fixed his hair."

 

Marco chuckles lightly as he lets himself fall back until he's sitting down facing Mario, arms propped up on his knees. "Sounds a lot like someone I know," he teases, eyeing Mario's perfectly done hair. 

 

"Hey!" Mario objects rather loudly, fixing his hair absently. "In my defence, this took me ten minutes. And I didn't make anyone wait."

 

"My bad," Marco concedes, holding his palms up in a placating manner. Mario raises his eyebrows, pursing his lips in a "watch it" kinda way, which only serves to make Marco's severely crooked grin, well, more crooked. "So you’re so upset that your roommates are making you wait for them that it’s reminding you about that time your brother made you wait for him?” Marco raises his eyebrows and Mario shrugs sheepishly. “You just really hate waiting for people, don’t you?” He adds as an afterthought and Mario snorts.

 

“That’s an understatement.”

 

Marco smiles that crooked grin again and Mario lowers his eyes as he pulls absently on his laces.

 

“Was it fun?" Marco asks after a quiet moment. 

 

"Huh?"

 

"The trip," he clarifies. "Was it worth the wait?" 

 

For a moment, Mario doesn't really know how to respond, more than a little surprised at the question. But then he looks up at Marco, the genuine curiosity on his face, and the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

 

"Yeah, it kinda was. I broke Fabian's arm when we were there, after I accidentally pushed him off a tree in Mauerpark," Mario recalls, his yes crinkling at the corners as he smiles widely at the memory. 

 

Marco's eyes widen, his surprise slowly ebbing away before his lips spread in a smile that matches Mario's.

 

"How do you _accidentally_ push someone off a tree?"

 

"I just shoved him a little," Mario defends himself. "We always did that on the trees back home. He'd hold on and I'd hold on and we'd just shove each other. Never hard enough to actually do any damage, just enough to get your adrenaline pumping. Except that when we were in Berlin, Fabian was too busy trying to impress a girl in the park and I didn't realize just how much effort he was putting into it until I shoved him and he pummelled face-first into the dirt." Mario says it all in one breath, the guilt he felt back then catching up to him. It only serves to make Marco laugh harder for a moment, before he calms down and meets Mario's eyes again. 

 

"I promise not to try and impress any girls if you promise not to break my arm," Marco teases, a shit-eating grin on his face.

 

Mario flushes despite himself, flustered by just how much he wants to agree to that promise. He shakes himself out of it before he can do something stupid like tell him to give up other boys too while he’s at it.

 

"Wipe that smirk off your face and we might have a deal, Reus," he warns instead, and Marco barks a laugh. 

 

Mario hears a commotion before Marco can say anything else, and when he looks to his left, he notices Montana and André finally making their way out of the building. 

 

"The King and queen cometh, fucking finally!" Thomas howls, getting up and dusting himself off before reaching out for Lisa's hand and helping her up. 

 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Montana groans, closing her eyes for a second. "Sorry to have made you guys wait this long," she apologizes as everyone else stands and pulls their luggage up. "Let's just move before Ann finds out we haven't left yet. She's at the station with Mats and Benni and has been there for the past twenty minutes."

 

* * *

 

Mario doesn't really know how they make it to the train station in less than half an hour, doesn't really register the walk to the bus stop or the ride itself. He just, sort of blacks it out, plugging his earphones and putting his phone on shuffle, and then just following his friends silently. 

 

He finds himself aboard the train soon after, his duffel tucked under the blue velvet seat, Marco occupying the space next to him. 

 

They don't talk much, Marco leaning against the window as he plays with his phone, Mario half-lost in his own head and the Red Hot Chili Peppers song currently blasting in his ears. It's funny how he's suddenly found himself listening to more and more of their music ever since the band started playing at the pub. 

 

He sighs to himself before looking up at the people occupying the seats across from them, a set of two small tables separating the four friends. 

 

When Mario was little, he rode the bus with Fabian every day to school. Fabian used to always just sit there and watch his friends on the bus, observing them as they interacted, while Mario wreaked havoc around him. He used to tell Mario it allowed him to learn something new about the people around him every day, but Mario would just tease him about it and lean over the back of his seat to try and beat the Schalke out of Julian. 

 

He smiles to himself as the memory creeps up his thoughts, taking in his friends and wondering if this is what Fabian felt like. 

 

Thomas and Lisa are sitting unusually close together, despite the armrest separating their seats. At first glance - and second, and probably third - one would never understand how these two can possibly know each other, let alone be friends, and while Mario likes to think he has long ago learned to look past looks, he can't really blame them. The contrast between the two is blinding, Thomas channelling his inner – and outer – traffic light in a red and white cardigan awkwardly buttoned over a yellow shirt and green pants, Lisa's hair intricately braided down her back, her dark makeup and facial piercings on full display. She's wearing a long, loose, black dress, her tattoos peaking just a little over the collar, but what strikes Mario the most is how her full attention is on Thomas, like she's trying to memorize his face. Mario can see the several pictures of horses when Thomas tips the tablet in his hands, as he continues to gesticulate and grin, clearly very caught up in what he's telling Lisa, but he can also see Lisa's eyes scanning Thomas' face, and it makes him feel like he's intruding on something very intimate, so much so that he can't help but turn his head away from the two.

 

There's five people currently occupying the space to Mario's left, Montana perched on Ann's lap on one side, her back to the window and her feet propped up in André's lap next to Ann. The three of them are focused on the deck of cards on the table in front of them, laughter on their faces as Jo and Auba whisper conspiratorially on the opposite end, staring at the cards in Jo's hands. Auba pulls out one of the cards from the small stack and dramatically slaps in on the table, chuckling loudly when Ann shrieks loud enough for Mario to hear her over his music. 

 

He looks behind Ann's seat for a second to find a disgruntled Mats muttering something, and he turns back to look at his hands in his lap with a smile on his face. He's going to Slovenia with a pack of obnoxious, crazy, loud idiots. It could be worse. 

 

Something hits his shoulder lightly, and when he looks back up, Marco's head is on his shoulder, his hair tickling Mario's neck and cheek, eyes closed and mouth slightly opened. Mario's grin widens, his eyes meeting Lisa's for a moment, and Mario knows they're both going back to their conversation from a few weeks ago. He turns his attention back to his phone, the smile never leaving his face.

 

Yeah, things could be a lot worse.

 

* * *

 

Mario finds it really hard to keep up the disgruntled act once they're in Slovenia. Lake Bohinj is simply _beautiful._ Or what he can see of it.

 

Ann's uncle's cabin is in a small village called Bohinjska Bistrica, a short walk from the lake itself, but hidden behind a rich green hill, so Mario can't actually _find_ the lake at first. He can, however, see just how much of a majestic place this is. And yes, he just used the word majestic, because any place buried in the middle of the Alps with that many different shades of blue and green and orange deserves to be called majestic. Seriously, he's only ever seen this kind of scenery when his dad bought them their first desktop and insisted they use that nature slideshow Mario had no patience for as a background.

 

He doesn't know if it's the gravitational pull of the roommate power, but he ends up sharing a room with Montana, André and Thomas. He can't really complain though, since he'd actually prefer it that way. He knows these people, knows their quirks and ticks and disgusting habits, so he'd much rather fall back on that than spend the trip trying to adjust to a new set of roommates. 

 

Mario doesn't get to enjoy that all that much though, barely has any time to change into some lighter clothes, a pair of dark shorts, a yellow graphic T-shirt and his favourite purple hoodie before Ann whisks them off to their first holiday destination: a motherfucking adrenaline park.

 

Why did Mario think this was a good idea again? He's tired from the long train ride and ridiculously afraid of heights, there is no way he's going to spend the next two hours dangling from a rope and trying to find his balance in the air, thank you very much.  

 

He lets Ann know just as much when she suggests he goes first, taking a seat on the ground and resting his back against the trunk of a huge tree. He finds himself heavily comforted by the fact that Jo joins him on the floor, having apparently suffered a traumatizing experience in an adrenaline park as a kid, one that's ensured he'd never like to try it again in this lifetime. 

 

They do have fun though, Mario has to admit, calling out to their friends as they take turns on the ropes and laughing more than they should when Benni loses his footing and nearly pummels to the ground at one point.

 

Mario takes him time admiring Lake Bohinj on their way back to the cabin, and it's just as majestic as this whole place. Montana tells them they'll be going swimming first thing the next day, and Mario won't admit it to anyone, but he cannot wait for that.

 

* * *

 

He quickly changes his mind when they set out to the lake the next day.

 

It takes them forever to get there. And okay, by forever he means less than thirty minutes, but that's still thirty minutes too long, especially that the road there is dusty and Mario’s pretty sure he’s going to trip on one of those gigantic pebbles littering the trail and break his neck. Mario doesn’t care how many times Ann screams at him that no one can actually see those pebbles but him, they’re there and they’re out to get him, he is sure of it. It doesn’t help that there’s flies everywhere either, and it's just hot enough outside to make Marco think it's okay to parade around in a white tank top. Seriously, who does he think he is, Cristiano Ronaldo? Not that Mario has ever been particularly attracted to good ol' CR7, but he's the only public figure he can think of right now that can pull off a tank top. 

 

He realizes just how ridiculous he sounds when he notices that Thiago is wearing a black tank and Auba is rocking a hot pink version of the same style. Why couldn't they have pulled a Mario, wearing a loose t-shirt with the sleeves cut off like a normal human being? Why couldn't have they let him prove his point just this once? 

 

He groans silently to himself, violently kicking some pebbles as he rolls his eyes and follows Montana. He's too busy glaring angrily at the ground to notice Marco stop a few feet ahead of him, and it's only when the latter bumps his shoulder and walks next to him, that Mario realizes he actually waited for him.

 

"You okay there, Sunny? Has the dirt wronged you in any way?"

 

Mario furrows his brow even more, staring at Marco and trying to make sense of his words. They don't make sense, and the way Marco's looking at him, his eyes so much greener in the sunlight, his cheeks flushed with the heat and his hair falling slightly into his eyes, it doesn't help at all.

 

Mario's so lost in his head and in the boy in front of him that he flinches when Marco reaches out tentatively and runs his fingers between Mario's eyes, smoothing the skin there as Mario finally registers Marco's words and relaxes under his friend's touch. 

 

They stare at each other for a lot longer than necessary, and Mario doesn't realize they've stopped walking until Thiago bumps into him as he makes his way past them, Marco's fingers still tending to his skin. 

 

"Stop calling me Sunny," he mutters as he shakes himself out of it and starts walking again. He stops when he notices Marco hasn't moved, looking back and raising his eyebrows at the blond boy. "You coming?"

 

Marco looks a little out of it for a second, frozen to the spot, his brow furrowed when he looks up at Mario and his mouth hanging open, before he shakes his head and starts walking.

 

They continue the trek silently, side by side, and it isn't until they get to their destination that Mario feels the rush of panic shoot through him. Because, when they emerge out of the trees, they're not at the shore of the lake. He can see the shore of the lake from where he's standing, yes, but it's all the way down to their right. Because as it is, they're at the edge of a cliff. 

 

He feels himself pale as he looks at his friends disposing of their bags and taking off their clothes a little further ahead, way closer to the edge than Mario would ever wish for anyone to be. He swallows around the lump in his throat a few times, before he calls out to Montana. It comes out parched, his voice so cracked that even he doesn't hear himself.

 

"Monty!" He tries again, and this time it works, because Montana looks up from where she's taking her top off to reveal a dark plum bikini, her hair billowing in the slight breeze and falling into her face. He can see Bucky Barnes peeking from under her denim shorts, the only non-anime indulgence she’d allowed herself in the tattoo department. She smiles brightly at Mario as she steps over to him, and Mario is momentarily distracted by how happy she looks, but not enough to make him forget the conundrum they're facing.

 

"What's up, roomie?" She asks when she's right in front of him, unbuttoning her shorts.

 

"Monty, I can't do this," Mario mumbles hurriedly, feeling himself grow pasty. "You know I'm not good with heights."

 

A look of worry flashes on her face for a second, before she reaches out for his hands. His are clammy under her cool fingers, and it makes his stomach flip.

 

"Come on, Mario, it's not even that high."

 

"Everything okay?" Marco says from his place next to Mario, where he's apparently taken off his shirt, and holy crap he's even got an abs situation going, something that Mario would probably be enjoying - or cursing - a lot more thoroughly if he wasn't mortified his friends will try to push him off a cliff.

 

"I can't do this," Mario tells him quickly, shaking his head frantically. 

 

He hears someone scream and they all turn around in time to catch David and Thiago jumping off the cliff at the same time, their howls echoing in the air as they disappear out of sight. Their cries are silenced for a minute as Mario hears the thundering sounds of simultaneous splashes. It feels like the silence stretches for years before Thiago and David re-emerge, their laughter booming as Jo and Auba cheer from the side of the cliff.

 

"What, this little jump?" Marco asks, chuckling lightly as Ann takes a few steps back before running and jumping after the boys. He sobers up when he meets Mario's eyes, his features suddenly more serious. 

 

"Even André's gonna do it," Montana says, looking back at the boy in question for a second, a fond smile on her face, "and you know he's terrified of water." 

 

"André's just trying to impress you, Monty," Mario mumbles, looking at Marco with pleading eyes. "He'd eat peanuts if you asked him, near-fatal allergies be damned."

 

"We could do it together," Marco blurts out before Montana has a chance to say anything, and they both turn to stare at him. Marco clears his throat for a second before he ploughs on. "I mean, I could just go all the way down to the shore with you if you're sure you can't do this jump, but it's so much fun, I promise you. For the few seconds it lasts, it's one of the most liberating feelings you'll ever experience. So we could just, you know, wait until everyone's jumped so you can make sure they all made it out fine, and then we'll jump together."

 

"Like Thiago and David?" Mario asks, his voice slightly strained, and he can't believe he's actually contemplating this. 

 

"Yes, like Thiago and David," Marco nods, and Mario swallows against his dry throat. When he turns to Montana, she's looking from him to Marco with something on her face, but then she nods eagerly when her eyes meet Mario's. 

 

Mario kneels down to grab his bottle from his backpack, gulping down some water before clasping the cap and looking up at Marco. 

 

"Okay."

 

"Okay," Marco nods, smiling proudly, and Mario grins back, ducking his head before his friends can see the flush on his face.

 

Montana only squeezes both their hands at the same time, taking a few steps back and then turning to take her shorts off.

 

Only she, André and Jo are left standing on the hill, the rest of their friends already in the water where Mario can hear their voices echoing in the open space. 

 

He takes his shirt off slowly, throws it messily on top of his bag before toeing his shoes off and removing his socks. 

 

Marco's looking at him when he turns back to him, his eyes shining against the sun, the left one barely open as he tries to fight off the blinding light.

 

"Wanna get closer to the edge, see the rest of them when they jump?" 

 

Mario nods mutely, taking a few careful steps next to Marco. He flinches and reaches out blindly for Marco's wrist when Jo jumps off the edge suddenly, howling on his way down, the sound of a splash drowning out the cheers of his friends in the water.

 

Marco's eyes are looking at him with something he can't define when Mario turns to him, a smile growing slowly on his face. Marco manoeuvres their hands until he's clasping Mario's tightly in his, and if Marco is bothered by just how clammy Mario's palm is, he doesn't make it known. 

 

They continue to step closer to the edge where only Montana and André remain, so close now that Mario can actually see some of his friends in the water. Montana looks at them for a second, flashing them a smile before she and André share a look. 

 

It's impressive how accurately they time their jumps, both taking off at the exact same moment. Mario can only smile at that, his grin widening when he hears them re-emerge from the water and start laughing loudly. 

 

"Ready?" Marco asks, squeezing his palm softly.

 

Mario takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second before looking at the deep blue of the lake that stretches for days in front of them. He clasps Marco's hand tighter, trying not to think about the fact that the boy next to him has the power to probably convince Mario to do anything. 

 

"Trust me," Marco whispers next to him, squeezing his hand back, voice barely audible.

 

Mario only turns and nods at Marco, their eyes meeting as Marco's lips pull up on one side before they both turn to stare ahead.

 

"On three," Mario tells him resolutely. "One...two..." He stops for a moment, taking one last deep breath before closing his eyes. "Three," he whispers. 

 

They start moving at the same time. They're far enough from the edge that they have to take two steps before they push themselves off the ground. 

 

For a second, Mario panics. He's jumping off a cliff in every sense of the word, and he's doing it willingly. But then, the breeze hits him, Marco's fingers barely able to keep their hold on his hand as he howls happily next to him. It's amazing, this rush that runs through Mario, every inch of his body tingling as he free falls through the air. His thoughts are running a mile a second, so much so that Mario has time to ponder at the ridiculousness of being able to go through so many emotions in the space of a jump that, now that he's in the middle of doing it he can see, is not even that high. 

 

Marco's fingers are no longer within touching distance and his thoughts are drowned out literally and figuratively when his feet hit the surface of the water, and Mario barely has time to clamp his nostrils shut before he's submerged. He doesn't know how far down he goes, but it's not far enough for Mario to graze the bottom. It was one of his favourite things to do with Fabian as a kid, swim deep enough to graze the sandy bottom with his bare feet. Of course, that was in the sea, but he’s in a lake right now, and he’s pretty sure if we was to actually hit the bottom, he’d just be swamped with more gigantic pebbles.

 

There's a moment of complete peace and quiet where Mario lets himself just drift in the water, his friends' voices floating over to him through what seems to be like a hundred barriers. He opens his eyes, and the water is light enough that he can see his friends kicking around to stay afloat. It only lasts for a second before he feels his body start to float to the surface, the cold of the water catching up to him.

 

He resurfaces a few seconds later, assaulted by the cold and his friends' loud voices, gasping frantically for air, and his eyes opening widely as he tries to readjust. He closes his eyes again, rubbing the water out of them, and he's startled by the feeling of hands on his face. He opens his eyes to find Marco's face inches away from his, droplets of water sticking to his cheeks and nose and hair, his skin glistening in the sun. 

 

"You're okay?" Marco asks frantically, running his thumb over Mario's cheek, and Mario is honestly too surprised to say anything, staring with bewildered eyes at the boy in front of him. 

 

He puts his hand over Marco's on his cheeks before he bursts out in giggles, unable to contain the excitement and the adrenaline pumping through his veins. 

 

Marco smiles warily in front of him, removing his hands from Mario's face but keeping one of his linked with Mario's under the surface. 

 

"See?" Marco says after a second, laughing along with Mario. "I told you it was fun."

 

It was. It really, really was. And there is no way Mario is going to admit it. 

 

"Fun?" He yells, as he's laughing, Marco's hand in his and his friends around them. "That was terrible, you ass!" He continues, still unable to contain his giggles, feeling so elated by the laughing boy in front of him. "The water's freezing." That part is true. The water _is_ freezing. "I hate you." That part is most definitely not true. 

 

Marco chuckles out loud in front of him, Mario still laughing along when he feels a sudden pressure on his shoulders and he's submerged again with his mouth open. He feels the water burning his throat and nostrils and he panics for a moment, his eyes widening down under, before Marco's fingers tighten their grip on his hand and he feels himself getting pulled up. 

 

He's coughing violently when he resurfaces, his throat burning and his lungs aching as he blinks a couple hundred times, Marco's arm now tucked firmly around his back as he tries to support him, the smile still on his face as he looks at someone behind Mario.

 

"Wasn't that so great, Mario?!" He hears someone yell excitedly behind him, and he recognizes André's voice despite his coughing fit.

 

"André, you idiot, you nearly drowned him," Marco points out what Mario can't, the laughter in his voice belying the seriousness of what just happened. 

 

Mario eventually calms down enough to turns around and shoot André with the grumpiest look he can muster. It has no effect on his roommate, it seems, as the later only ruffles Mario's hair before he turns to swim away, yelling "let's do it again!" to anyone willing to listen.

 

Mario shakes his head at him, his throat still throbbing, before he unconsciously turns and rests his forehead on Marco's shoulder. He's trying to regulate his breathing when he realizes just how _close_ they are, Marco's arm around his waist while Mario's own is wrapped firmly around Marco's shoulder, his fingers gripping the pale skin, his cheek pressed against the other boy's neck in a way that suggests they might be hugging. 

 

Mario pulls away suddenly, startling Marco, but he keeps their hands clasped together under the water. Marco's eyes never leave his, his forehead crinkled as he squints against the bright sun, kicking around in the water to stay afloat. 

 

"Thanks," Mario croaks, the water still thick and uncomfortable in his throat.

 

Marco's only response is a smile. 

 

* * *

 

They spend the entire day at the lake, only leaving the water when it's lunch time. They get food from a food cabin/truck hybrid, Marco and Mats walking the short distance there and coming back with paper bags full of sandwiches.

 

Marco hands everyone their food before he walks over to Mario silently, placing the remaining bag next to Mario and laying out his towel between them. He grabs the bag as soon as he's seated, digging out a few sandwiches and a plate of fries with some ketchup packets. Mario looks at him from under his lashes as he eagerly stuffs his face with fries, smiling when their eyes meet.

 

They go out to a pub that evening, drinking the night away and making a lot more noise than necessary.

 

On the third day, they set out early in the morning to go rock-climbing, and Mario has no qualms whatsoever when he decides to sit this one out. Not even Marco's - albeit impressive - pout manages to convince him.

 

He sits down on the ground a little further ahead instead, pulling his knees up and watching his friends get in gear, Benni handing him a beer before joining him on the ground a few minutes later. Benni's got a bad knee so he’s not up for it, and Lisa doesn't seem to be very excited about it either, so she plops down on Mario's other side. 

 

Mario's barely had time to bump her shoulder when Thomas appears out of nowhere, kneeling down in front of her and resting one of his hands on her knee. Mario's surprised when all she does is look up at it and smile.

 

"Come on, Lisa, you have to do it with us," Thomas pleads, getting straight to the point. "Leave the old men here," he adds, nodding his head at Mario and Benni who only raise their beers in response, "and come rock climb with me."

 

"It doesn't look like a lot of fun, Thomas."

 

"It is fun!" Thomas argues. "You get to fucking say you climbed a wall," he continues, his voice bordering on hysterical. "A wall, Lisa! What's more fun than that?"

 

Lisa only rolls her eyes at him before she looks back at Mario for a second and then takes Thomas' hand in hers. 

 

"Fine, but if I fall, you're dead," she tells him as he helps her up with the biggest smile on his face. 

 

"Well, that one's whipped," Benni mutters next to Mario as they watch them walk away, taking a sip from his bottle.

 

"Yeah, Thomas is definitely that," Mario mumbles, looking over at his friends. Marco turns to look at him for a moment, a wide grin on his face, and Mario feels his stomach flip flop.

 

"I was actually talking about Lisa," Benni clarifies, taking another sip, a knowing smile on his face.

 

Mario grins wider as he looks at Thomas and Lisa again, watching the way she hovers around the tall boy, her face somehow brighter when he's with her, and it has very little to do with the fact that she’s not wearing her usual wall of dark makeup today. Benni might just be right. 

 

Mats is the fastest to get to the top and Benni is the most excited boyfriend in the history of the world. Benni raises his eyebrows at Mario when he makes that comment, taking offense to the word boyfriend, because he's really, really not. Mario only rolls his eyes before he turns back to watch David climb the wall. 

 

The best part of the day turns out to be after, when Mario and Auba stumble upon a football pitch near the climbing area. There's a few kids kicking around on the other side who turn out to be nice enough to lend them a ball, and they abruptly start a game of four on four with Mats as the lone goalkeeper. 

 

It's a case of roommates bonding together once again as Mario accidentally ends up with Montana, André and Thomas on his team. It takes him absolutely no time to find his footing, his skills creeping up on him as he dribbles and shoots and scores, muscle memory kicking in and reminding him of just how good he could've been if life hadn't gotten in the way. He's winded a lot faster than he used to be, though, the lack of exercise coupled with the amount of alcohol he's consumed since he started bartending catching up to him. It doesn’t help that his knee’s positively throbbing by the end of it. He takes comfort in the fact that they all get tired way too fast, Thiago having to stop at the five minutes mark to catch his breath.

 

"You never told me you were that good." Marco comes up next to him after the short match, handing him a bottle of water which Mario takes gratefully. Mario's team won by three goals.

 

"I did," Mario insists, gulping down some water and looking back up at Marco in front of him. He offers the bottle back to Marco, and when the latter refuses it, Mario empties half its contents over his head, washing the heat and grime away. 

 

"Yeah," Marco concedes, nodding slightly with a smile, "but like, not _that_ good."

 

"I believe my exact words were _I would've made it_ ," Mario argues, raising his eyebrows Marco. He feels light, somehow, his skin prickling and his limbs weightless. He tries to brush it off when he realizes it probably has to do with the smiling boy standing too close in front of him.

 

* * *

 

"Fuck. Fuck fuckfuckfuck. _Fuck._ "

 

Mario's just coming down to the kitchen when Montana comes barging into the cabin, flushed and breathless and cursing like her life depends on it. 

 

"Are you okay?" Mario asks, coming closer to his roommate, a genuine wave of worry washing over him. Montana looks at him for a second, her eyes wide and almost scared, cheeks flushing unevenly, before she resumes her pacing, muttering curses to herself.

 

"Shit, what the fuck did I do," she mumbles, resting her palm on her forehead for a second and looking back up at Mario. "I screwed up," she tells him finally, her voice shaking. He's never seen Montana like this before, and it's starting to really scare him.

 

"Okay, calm down," Mario starts to say, walking closer to his friend. "Tell me what happened." 

 

"I screwed u-"

 

"Montana!" Mario hears a voice call out from the living room followed by the sound of the front door slamming. André appears in the kitchen a second later, his face even more comically flushed than Montana's, his hair sticking up all over, mostly looking like he just got run over by a truck. "Where the fuck did you run off to?!" He demands as he tries to catch his breath, sounding a lot angrier than Mario has ever heard André sound, despite looking so winded. He didn't even know André was capable of it.

 

"We shouldn't have done this," Montana mumbles, stepping away from André and bumping into the kitchen island. "I shouldn't have-"

 

"Like hell you shouldn't have!" André cuts her off, taking a step closer and Mario instinctively steps closer to Montana as well. The rational part of him knows André would never hurt Montana, but there's something very irrational about what's happening right now. If only Mario actually _knew_ what was happening. "You can't fucking kiss me and then run out on me!"

 

Oh. _Oh_.

 

"Yes, I can," Montana insists, nodding her head frantically, and Mario realizes he has absolutely no place in this conversation. He starts to back out slowly, but he barely makes it a few steps when Montana looks up at him. "Don't you dare leave right now," she orders, fixing Mario with a stare before she turns back to André. "We shouldn't have done this," she repeats. "You're going out with my best friend for fuck's sake!"

 

"Jesus fucking Christ, M, I already told you, there's nothing going on between Ann and me!" André yells, frustrated, running his hands in his hair for a moment. "She was only trying to make you jealous." 

 

"Why would Ann try to make me jealous?" Montana argues, furrowing her brow and shaking her head furiously. "Ann doesn't like me like that to try and make me jealous." 

 

"For me!" André explains exasperatedly. Mario can almost _feel_ him wondering to himself why he even likes Montana. "She was trying to make you jealous of her, for _me_! To get you to realize that you like _me_."

 

"I don't like you," Montana denies straight away, and Mario can't stop himself from snorting out loud. Montana sends him a death glare, and Mario wonders why he didn't escape when he had the opportunity.

 

"That's what I kept telling her and everyone who would fucking listen," André says after a moment, his voice a lot more quiet, a lot more broken. "But everyone kept insisting you did. Everyone kept insisting you had a thing for me but were too scared to admit it." He stops for a moment, takes a deep breath, and looks at Montana with an air of resolution. "And then you fucking kiss me and run away and it's not fucking fair. You can't fucking do this to me, Montana. Why would you fucking kiss me when you know how I feel? Why would you fucking do it if you don't like me?" 

 

They're both quiet for a moment, and Mario feels so out of place he's ready to disappear now. He can hear himself breathe, can feel every hair on his skin stand up, the uncomfortable heat pooling between his shoulder blades. _Why is he here?_

 

"I like you, okay?" Montana admits finally, her voice so low but so resigned, like she just realized there's no running away from it. "But there's Ann and she likes-"

 

Montana's interrupted by the sound of heels clinking against the wooden floor, and when the three of them look up at the intruder, they find Ann standing in front of them in a second skin, short, red dress and a pair of the highest black stilettos Mario has ever seen, her hair curled to perfection and her face painted in a ridiculous amount of makeup. She looks straight out of a magazine, which shouldn't surprise Mario that much because that's Ann every day.

 

"You look great," Montana mumbles, her brow furrowed as she looks at her best friend walk over to the fridge and fish out a bottle of water.

 

"Thank you," Ann says happily, pouring herself a glass and sipping it carefully, minding her red matte lipstick. "I have a date with Lucy."

 

"Lucy?" Montana asks, her jaw nearly dropping to the floor. 

 

"The girl I met at the pub yesterday," she explains, fluffing her hair after putting the glass in the sink. "Wish me luck! And don't wait up," she tells them before picking her clutch off the counter and walking away.

 

There's a minute of complete silence after Ann walks out where everyone seems to be absorbing what just happened. André raises his eyebrows at Montana, and before Mario knows what's going on, she closes the distance between her and André and kisses him. 

 

Mario stares at them for a second, smiling when Montana's arms wrap themselves around Andre's shoulders, before he realizes just how much like a creep he must seem right now, standing in the middle of the kitchen, smiling as he stares at his two roommates making out.

 

No one objects when he walks out of the room this time.

 

* * *

 

No one comments on it either when Montana comes down to the kitchen the next morning and walks straight up to André to give him a good morning kiss. And by no one, Mario means he's the only one who shrugs it off while everyone around him proceeds to have a nervous breakdown, none more so than Marco. It's irrational and weird and mildly confusing, but for some reason Marco spends a good ten minutes in shock, wondering how the hell he missed this development as Thomas yells about it into his megaphone. Mario has no time to wonder where Thomas even got a megaphone from, because Jo urges everyone to get a move on when Pierre seemingly concocts a champagne bottle out of thin air, one he seems fully intent on opening.   

 

Thankfully, Jo convinces Auba to save the bubbly for later, but Marco spends half of the walk to their destination still in shock, and the other half giving André "the talk."

 

"No, but I'm serious," Mario can hear Marco say as he walks wedged between Montana and André. "I know I just came back into Montana's life, but I've known her for a loooong time, so if you hurt her-"

 

"Jesus Christ, Marco," Montana mutters, rolling her eyes. "A) This is not the 1950s, I don't need you to defend my honour, and B) You fell down and broke your leg while you were _walking_. It didn't require much more than that. You have porcelain for bones."

 

"Mario doesn't have porcelain for bones, right Mario?" Marco says, looking behind him and reaching out for Mario's hand. Mario unconsciously reaches back, and Marco's fingers wind up wrapping themselves half around Mario's wrist and half around his palm, pulling him over until he's wedged between Marco and Montana. "You'll hurt André if he hurts Montana, right?" Marco asks, his eyebrows raised as he looks from Mario to Montana to André.

 

"Erm," Mario hesitates for a second before meeting Montana's eyes who shrugs in return. "Sure?" Marco nods encouragingly, and Mario looks past him at André. "Make sure you don't hurt Montana because I'll hurt you?" He asks him rather than tells him. "I mean, she'll probably kill you herself first," he rambles after a moment, because it's _Montana_. The truth is that it's more likely that she'll have to kill Marco when he hurts him. 

 

_What? Where the fuck did that come from?_

 

He doesn't listen to anything they say after that, too caught up in his thoughts to react to anything. He hears words like jumping and high and bridge, but he doesn't register anything until they actually reach their destination, and even then, he's distracted by his thoughts until Thomas comes up to him and asks him if he's ready. 

 

"What?" Mario asks, finally taking in his surroundings, but his voice is drowned out by the high pitched laughs echoing around the area. Thomas rushes to the edge of the bridge and leans over the railing, and when Mario follows him, he's mortified to find what he sees. Because up there, a little further ahead from where they're standing are two people strapped into a harness and some ropes, dangling together from the edge as they sway from left to right, the elastic cord holding their weight above the water. "Oh no," Mario mutters, what they're here to do finally dawning on him.

 

"Oh yes," Thomas nods excitedly next to him, clapping his hands together maniacally and disappearing closer towards the centre of the bridge.

 

Mario stands frozen to his spot for what seems to be like a long time, wondering why the hell his friends decided that all their activities during this "vacation" had to involve heights. He's cursing aggressively at his choice of friends when he feels someone touch his shoulder, light at first, but then firm enough to grab his attention. He looks to his side to find Marco standing there with his palm cupping Mario's shoulder, his eyes searching the boy's face.

 

Mario sighs audibly, a resolute look on his face, but otherwise says nothing.

 

"You jumped off a cliff holding on to nothing but my hand," Marco offers, his voice a lot more amused than Mario would like, but it's contagious, so he smiles a little despite himself. "You sure as hell can jump off a bridge strapped to a harness _and_ a rope."

 

"Yeah, I can," Mario agrees, nodding his head slightly. "But why would I want to?" he ponders in his whiniest voice, his pout on full display.

 

"Because it's fun!" Montana tells him, materializing out of thin air to stand in front of him with a frighteningly large smile on her face. "Come on," she urges, wrapping her fingers around Mario's wrist. "We'll do it together."

 

"Fine," Mario surrenders, letting himself be pulled by his roommate, but not before wrapping his own fingers around Marco's wrist and pulling him along. "But you're gonna be sorry when I throw up all over you."

 

* * *

 

He doesn't throw up all over Montana. He doesn't throw up at all, which is impressive to say the least. He does, however, spend the next hour after the jump seated firmly on the muddy ground next to the lake, his fingers wrapped tightly around the strands of greenery around him, unwilling to move. 

 

His friends are swimming in the lake right in front of him, Ann's new friend "Lucy" with them, mulling around the water as David and Thiago make out like a pair of lovesick teens. Marco, though, he spends the entire time seated right next to Mario, their bare shoulders touching, with matching smiles on their faces as they watch Montana, André, Jo and Lisa try to form a human pyramid. Which, needless to say, they phenomenally fail at. They're still laughing sometime later when Marco sighs contentedly next to him.

 

Mario turns to look at him, their eyes meeting, and he blames the sun for the flecks of gold and green and yellow he can clearly see in Marco's eyes.

 

"What?" Mario asks self-consciously when they stare at one another for too long, and Marco sighs again before turning to look back at the lake.

 

"I'm just happy," Marco shrugs his shoulders, leaning back onto his elbows. "We're on vacation in Slovenia, and it's so pretty out here," Marco continues, his voice light. "And I'm graduating before I know it."

 

"I thought you had a semester left?" Mario enquires.

 

"I do, but finals are in January, so that's pretty close," Marco shrugs, meeting Mario's eyes again. Mario snorts obnoxiously, a smile on his face. "What?" Marco asks, his brow furrowing for a second. "Christmas is right around the corner!" He insists defensively, chuckling along with Mario despite himself.

 

"We're in June," Mario tells him, doing an impressive job at making his eyebrows disappear in his hairline. 

 

"I know we're in June," Marco echoes, "but we'll be in July before we know it. And then July and August will pass by in a blur, and so will September, October and November, and I'll be heading back to Dortmund for Christmas before I know it."

 

"Sure," Mario nods in a placating manner, and Marco pulls out some grass and throws it his way. 

 

"You're an asshole," he tells him, trying - and failing - to keep the smile off his face. "I can't believe you're not even a little bit excited about Christmas."

 

"What's there to be excited about?" Mario ponders, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Benni closes the pub for over ten days during Christmas season, and everyone else goes home, so I'm always stuck in the apartment alone. I mean who closes a pub for Christmas? Doesn't that man know how to run a business?"

 

"You don't go home and see your family?" Marco wonders, sobering up suddenly. 

 

"Not really," Mario shrugs, pulling an inhuman effort to keep his voice from shaking. "I told you, we're not that close."

 

Marco looks at him for a long time before he speaks.

 

"I suppose you won't actually tell me anything if I ask why?" He says finally, his voice a little hoarse as he pulls at some shrubs next to him, unearthing a few strands and wrapping them around his long fingers.

 

Mario looks at him from under his lashes, so ready for the "no, I won't" he's sure he will say. He doesn't like to talk about his family. About how much he hates them for what they've done. About how much he misses them in spite of that.

 

He takes a deep breath before he opens his mouth, fully intent on shutting the other boy down. The breeze stings his eyes a little, but he can see Marco's lips lift on one corner as he tilts his head, almost as if he's bracing himself for the blow, and it doesn’t exactly surprise Mario anymore how little he wants to be the one to deliver it. How much he actually wants to open up to him. 

 

He closes his eyes, wondering to himself what to do. In the end, he finds that he doesn't really have a choice. It's _Marco_. He doesn't want to think about what that means, about the unexpected importance of this boy he's met almost a year ago. So he doesn't. 

 

"Remember how I told you I was good at football when I was younger?" He starts, his voice foreign to his ears. He can feel the breeze in his hair, can feel Marco's skin against his, can see Marco's tiny nod. Irrational thoughts about how much this moment right here feels like it's straight out of a movie, the main character with a dark past opening up to their love interest in an idyllic setting. Someone they shouldn't trust as much as they already do. He shakes his head and smiles secretly to himself before he continues.

"Fabian was fourteen when he gave up on his dream of becoming a professional football player. No matter how many teams he joined, or how many training sessions he logged, he rarely saw any action outside of the bench. It wasn't his fault, really. He just wasn't made for it," Mario shrugs, the words leaving an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

"The sports shop became his dream after that, a dream that didn’t sit well with my dad at first. Not until I convinced him." He stops for a moment, closing his eyes again. The breeze still stings against his lids.

"I was barely sixteen the first time the senior team came knocking. Do you have any idea what it feels like when you're sixteen and a team like Dortmund is telling you they want you? That you're good enough?" It's funny how real the memory feels in his head. How the skin on the back of his neck prickles the same way it did back then.

"I was a minor though, and my parents, they didn't want a repeat of Fabian. My dad didn't think football was an appropriate career choice. My mum just didn't believe I wouldn't end up disappointed the same way Fabian was. They thought they were protecting me from getting hurt. So they wouldn't sign the contract." He swallows against the lump in his throat, a bitter smile on his face.

"They'd never even properly seen me play. Fab, though, he had. He knew how good I was. He'd watched every single one of my games. He'd seen me score all those goals, cheered louder than anyone else for all of them. But when the day they came, when my dad refused to sign the papers, he just sat there and did nothing. He watched my parents take my future away from me."

It stills hurts. It's almost eight years later, and it still fucking hurts. Marco doesn't say anything, only looks at Mario calmly as he waits for him to continue. So Mario continues. "I stopped talking to Fabian after that. Decided I'd just wait. If they didn't want to give me my dream, I'd wait until I was eighteen, and I'd take it for myself. Except that three weeks after my dad rejected the contract, I injured my knee. Had to stay off the pitch for nine weeks, and when I got back, I couldn't do anything properly. I was slower, I’d gained some weight, and my leg hurt every time I moved it. Doctors told me I'd require surgery if I wanted to play again. Surgery my parents wouldn't sign off on because they thought it'd heal on its own. They said me getting injured was probably a sign that I shouldn't be doing this. That I should be figuring out my life and applying to college." It fucking hurts. "I quit the team the day before my seventeenth birthday. The same day Nuri signed his contract."

 

"Nuri?" Marco asks, his voice low and careful. "Nuri Şahin? Dortmund's number 18?"

 

"He was one of my best friends, back then," Mario shrugs, smiling as he remembers the dark young boy he knew with his bright eyes and permanent smile. "He went on to become the youngest player to play in the Bundesliga." 

 

_It should've been me_. 

 

"And you?" 

 

"I moved out the day I turned eighteen," he tells him. "Decided I wouldn't let anyone decide my life for me ever again, so I went to live with my grandparents in Memmingen. Found a job at the pub less than six weeks later. Met Montana twenty four hours after that and moved in with her three days later. I haven't been back to Dortmund since." 

 

Marco straightens up when Mario's done talking, his eyes fixing Mario as he plays with an imaginary thread on his shorts. 

 

"Do you hate your new life?" He asks hesitantly after a while, turning to stare back at the lake. His voice is barely above a whisper, his eyes nearly closed. "I know football was the dream, but is the alternative so bad?"

 

Mario's taken aback by the question, so very far from what he'd expected. He looks around for a bit, his eyes finding Montana in the lake. She's staring at André as he talks animatedly with Auba, a quiet fondness on her face. He looks closer to the shore and sees Mats and Benni walking out of the lake, his boss's bald patches visible under his long, wet hair, Mats' smile blinding in its force. He turns back to look at Marco, the dimple at the corner of his mouth barely visible when he's not smiling, his hair fluffier than Mario's ever seen it, his skin still unnaturally pale despite it being exposed to the sun for so long. 

 

He's been used to feeling bad for so long, to feeling like he's been cheated out of his life, that he's very rarely stopped to think about what he got instead.

 

So it catches him a little off guard when he _does_ think about it and figures that he wouldn't really want to be anywhere else right now. Figures that if he's given the choice between being a successful football player or a grumpy bartender sitting on the shore of a lake with a green-eyed boy next to him, watching his makeshift family act like idiots, he'd choose the latter. 

 

"No," he admits after a moment, snorting as David tries to balance Lisa on his shoulders again, dropping her for the third time. "No, this isn't so bad."

 

* * *

 

It takes Mario a while to get back to the rhythm of his old life once they get back, which sounds ridiculous to his own ears, because people do not forget about routines and bone-deep habits over the course of a single week. And it’s not his fault, really, because he’s more than fine with picking up where he left off, except that everyone else around him refuses to do the same, everything suddenly foreign and new.

 

It’s both scary and exciting at the beginning, crossing the entire vast spectrum between crippling fear and unbridled optimism. Weirdly enough though, it’s not the bipolarity of it that scares the shit out of Mario. No, the overwhelming, paralyzing fear comes from the fact that he’s allowing himself to react that way in the first place. To love and care and _feel_ so much.

 

Montana starts crawling into his bedroom at night a lot less frequently, her rants for the most part confined to the pub and their living room at home before she disappears into André’s bedroom. He kinda misses it, Mario has to admit, but he is not one of those people who have a nervous breakdown when their best friend gets herself a boyfriend. At least, he hopes he’s not. And anyway, he can’t really feel bad about it, not when he can _see_ how tangibly happy André makes Montana.

 

Thomas, on the other hand, starts spending a lot more time in the apartment, pouring over research for his cases, often-times with Lisa at his side.

 

The full weight of those small changes doesn’t really hit Mario until the second week after they’re back from Slovenia, when Thiago barges into the apartment and proceeds to pace maniacally around Mario in the kitchen with a crazed look on his face. Mario leaves his phone and decides he’ll text Marco later since Thiago seems to be in dire need of his attention.

 

He’s about to ask what’s wrong when Thiago stops in front of the fridge, fishes out a beer and then grabs the magnetic bottle opener off the fridge, before disposing of the lid and downing half the bottle in one go. Mario’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline, and he realizes he should say something before Thiago drinks himself into a coma.

 

“Are you o-“

 

“Davidwantsmetomoveinwithhim,” Thiago lets out in one breath, actually _squeaking_ as soon as the words are out. “Oh my god,” he chokes, slapping a hand to his forehead, “it sounds even crazier out loud.” He’s smiling widely now, his eyes a little hysterical, not unlike the way he looks when Bayern are winning by a wide margin. He sits down across from Mario on the kitchen island, swaying a little when he nearly misses the stool, and steadying himself on the counter until he finds his balance.

 

“Wow,” Mario says, for lack of anything better. “That’s-“

 

“Crazy,” Thiago interrupts again, taking another sip from his beer before slapping it harshly on the counter – it’s made of glass, for fuck’s sake, it can _break_ – and gesticulating wildly. “It’s crazy, right?” He asks, not allowing Mario any actual time to answer. “I mean, I’ve only known him for, like, a year, but-“

 

“Has it already been a fucking year?” Mario mumbles, unable to stop himself. Has it really been this long? Mario feels like he met Marco a week ago.

 

“Well, ten months and thirteen days since we’ve gone official, but who’s fucking counting,” Thiago shrugs, rolling his eyes and picking an apple out of the fruit bowl to his left on the kitchen counter. He examines it with scrutinizing attention for a moment, like a scientist who’s just discovered the first piece of alien evidence on earth, before he places it back in the bowl and looks up at Mario. “It’s crazy, right?”

 

Mario’s first instinct is to scream at him that it is. Because it is crazy. Thiago doesn’t know David well enough, none of them do, and Mario cares about Thiago, has cared about him since the first time they met on the first day he moved across the hall from them, fresh off a plane from Spain. Hell, Thomas and Mario had even helped him move his stuff into the apartment. And David might hurt Thiago. And Mario doesn’t want Thiago getting hurt. Only. It’s _David_.

 

“Do you trust him?” Mario asks instead. “Do you love him?”

 

“Yes,” Thiago replies without missing a beat, leaving no room for doubt. “I wanted to get his name tattooed on my ass two days into our relationship,” he adds seriously, and Mario’s eyes widen when he laughs.

 

“I hope you don’t do that,” Mario tells him, scrunching up his nose at the idea of a heart tattoo with the word David on Thiago’s ass. That is a mental image he did not need. He sighs thoughtfully before he speaks. “It’s not crazy,” he admits.

 

He means it.

 

“No, it’s not,” Thiago echoes, nodding his head, obviously looking to convince himself. “It’s not.”

 

“It’s not,” Mario confirms.

 

“Good.” Thiago nods again, his eyes a little less crazed, his smile a lot more genuine. “Great. I’m glad you think so. Because I’m gonna need you to help me pack, when the time comes.”

 

* * *

 

The time comes a few weeks later, and every single one of them is put on moving duty, even Benni and his bad leg.

 

They go out to the pub after to celebrate, and Montana spends half the night complaining that it’s not really a celebration when she and Mario are both working, and half of their friends have to be there because they’re performing. But then Thomas places a shot in her hand and Thiago tells her she’s the best neighbour he’s ever had / will ever have, and Montana kinda softens before she gives in, calling him a big sap and downing the shot.

 

Mario tries not to let it get to him when Marco comes over to their corner on the bar after the set, a girl that could very much be the female version of him in tow, blonde and slight and still breathtakingly beautiful.

 

He doesn’t even have the right to grump properly because it turns out the girl – Scarlett – knows Lisa.

 

“This is Thomas,” Lisa tells Scarlett after she introduces her to everyone else. Lisa hesitates when she looks at Thomas, contemplative for a moment. “My boyfriend.”

 

Mario can see the question on her face when she looks at Thomas again, the unmasked fear that she might’ve put her foot in her mouth. Thomas takes some time to get over his initial shock, but when he does he smiles, nodding easily and looking like he just got hit on the head with an unnaturally sturdy hoof.

 

Mario smiles begrudgingly, almost angry that _he can’t even be angry_ when this happening right in front of him. He raises his glass at Thomas when their eyes meet, and the latter grins even wider, his eyes bright and happy, something that has little to do with the amount of alcohol he’s consumed, Mario suspects.

 

Mario’s still got a smile plastered on his face when Marco’s eyes find his, and he feels something uncomfortable in his stomach when he notices Marco’s hand on the small of Scarlett’s back. He averts his eyes and sighs, feeling his spirits dampen alarmingly, like he’s just plummeted off a really high cliff.

 

He walks past Montana as he goes into the backroom, mumbling something about getting ice on his way out.

 

“But I just got some!” Montana yells after him.

 

“Then I’ll just get some more.”

 

* * *

 

Thiago moving away turns out to be the tip of the iceberg. And Mario blames Montana entirely.

 

They’re sitting at the pub a few months later when Marco mentions he and Mats are looking for a place to live, in case anyone comes across anything. Jo and Auba have talked about moving into a place together alone, it turns out, and Marco thinks it’s unfair that they move out when this is Auba’s apartment in the first place. Point is, Marco and Mats are looking for an apartment, and Montana’s eyes widen as she gets an idea.

 

Mario will forever remember this as the “Great Roommate Switcheroo of 2016.”

 

The original plan calls for Marco and Mats to move in to Thiago’s old apartment, which he’d been looking to rent out anyway. But Marco’s quick to veto that idea when he remembers the apartment only has _one_ bedroom. There is no way he’s sharing a room with Mats and his voluminous hair, he keeps insisting.

 

Mario has not even had the time to contemplate the possibility of Marco living _across_ from him, when two days later Montana and André announce that they’ve decided to move into Thiago’s old apartment together. And that they think that Marco and Mats should move into their flat instead.

 

Mario is left positively squeaking, because there’s no way this is happening.

 

Except that it does happen, and Marco and Mats move their stuff in less than ten days later.

 

* * *

 

Naturally, Mario makes it his mission to act as weird around Marco as humanly possible, inadvertently making the new living arrangement the most awkward one in mankind’s history.

 

He spends the entire first month Marco’s there acting like a mix between a Jane Austen character and The Flash, keeping an impossible amount of clothes on at all times and sucking the fun out of literally everything. He spends the rest of his time holed up in his room, especially when Marco’s around the apartment.

 

He only realizes how ridiculous he’s being when he comes home one night and finds Marco sprawled on the couch in a Dortmund jersey, dozens of papers littering the small coffee table next to the sofa.

 

“Hey,” Marco says when he spots him, a nervous smile on his face, straightening up awkwardly like he’s just been caught making himself at home in someone else’s apartment. Which is silly. Because the apartment is now his, too.

 

Mario registers exactly how much of a dick he’s being when it dawns on him that Marco probably feels this way because of him.

 

“Hey Marco,” he answers eventually, averting his eyes and biting on his lower lip. The Winter Soldier is skipping away from Captain America on the TV screen and has just impressively caught his shield, and Mario’s eyes linger unconsciously, watching as the two superheroes dance around each other on television.

 

“You can sit down, you know,” Marco comments casually after a moment, straightening up some more and making room for Mario on the couch.

 

There’s no real reason for Mario not to take him up on his offer. Except that he’s _Mario_ and that somehow automatically makes everything ten times more complicated than it needs to be.

 

“It’s fine,” he shrugs him off eventually, trying to stay calm when Marco’s features visibly fall. “I’m just gonna go to sleep. Good night.”

 

He doesn’t wait for him to say anything back before he’s moving on his feet and practically bolting into his room down the hallway.

 

He throws his bag on the floor as soon as he’s in there, sighing exasperatedly and running his hands through his hair several times.

 

He makes up his mind as he takes off his shirt, because fuck it, this is _Marco_. The boy who jumped off a cliff with him. The only boy who knows about his past. He’s supposed to be his friend.

 

He changes into a pair of his softest cotton shorts and a t-shirt, pulling a pair of clean socks on before he leaves the room. He walks into the kitchen, grabs some drinks from the fridge and a couple bags of chips. He takes one more deep breath before he makes his way towards the living room.

 

“So,” he starts, trying his damn hardest to go for casual, his voice betraying him when it cracks a little. Marco looks up from his spot on the couch, obviously startled. “Cap or Bucky?”

 

Marco remains quiet, watching him with careful eyes as Mario makes himself comfortable on the couch next to him, handing him a dunkel.

 

“I thought you were going to bed?” Marco asks, smiling gratefully as he takes the beer, their fingers brushing lightly.

 

Mario cracks open a bag of chips and props it open between the two of them.

 

“Figured there’s better things to do,” Mario shrugs casually, trying desperately not to blush when Marco’s smile turns into a full-blown grin, complete with teeth and everything. He clears his throat, averting his eyes to the television screen. “And anyway, you haven’t answered the important question here,” he ploughs on, steering the conversation into safe territory. “Winter Soldier or Captain America?”

 

“Bucky,” Marco answers straight away, going along and shovelling a few ships down his throat. He chews carefully for a minute before he speaks again. “Bucky all the fucking way.”

 

“How can you pick Bucky when you can pick Steve?” Mario objects, clearly appalled. And he is, because who _would ever choose Bucky over Captain America?_

 

“Team righteous and beefy for you then,” Marco mutters under his breath, his eyes lingering on the television before he speaks again. “You do realize that _Steve_ would probably agree with me and choose Bucky too.”

 

“Yes,” Mario waves him off, throwing some chips into his mouth. “But that’s beside the point,” he continues. “Captain America is pretty much the perfect superhero.” Chris Evans, bless him, chooses that exact moment to parade across the screen in blue latex, helping Mario drive the point home. Bless this man and his perfectly chiselled genes. “He always does the right thing, his morals are off the chart, and, I mean, just fucking look at him!”

 

“Except when the right thing suggests not picking Bucky’s side,” Marco argues, raising his eyebrows, “in which case, he’s all for the wrong choice.” He takes a sip of his beer. “And anyway, I’d much prefer Bucky’s haggard look to Cap’s Mats-like perfection,” he shrugs.

 

Mario barks a laugh at the comparison, bumping his shoulder with Marco’s.

 

“You’re stupid,” he tells him.

 

“And you’re pretty,” he says casually, and Mario feels the tips of his ears turn a faint red colour. “Bucky’s messed up, Steve suffers from severe PTSD. Everyone’s got issues. The sooner we can accept those things, the sooner we can all move on.”

 

“Cap’s still better,” Mario comments after a moment.

 

“Whatever you say, Sunny.”

 

* * *

 

"So, I've been thinking."

 

"That's a first," Mario snorts, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

 

It's been a few weeks since he’s decided to stop acting like a constipated douchebag around Marco, and quite frankly, he's been very happy with his decision. It's definitely made their new living situation a whole lot easier, his movie nights with Marco now one of his favourite activities.

 

It's weird when he really thinks about it. Him living with Marco. But as Montana likes to remind him on a near-daily basis, it's been over a year since they slept together, so he might as well stop having his weekly nervous breakdown unless he plans on doing something about it. Which he doesn't. Mario doesn't even know how Montana knows about those, because he only experiences those moments of hysterical confusion in the confines of his bedroom, often when he's fidgeting restlessly in bed at dawn. But then again, it's Montana, and reading Mario with exceptional and freakish accuracy has always been one of her fortes.

 

Mario has also come to appreciate his walks in the park with Marco, the latter often needing a break from working on his thesis at the same time Mario gets up around noon. It was all very suspicious to Mario at first, very appropriately timed, maybe a little too much. But he'd stopped asking questions around the third time, and has now come to accept excursions with Marco as part of his routine.

 

Sometimes they grab lunch at home, throwing together leftovers and laughing around their food, before they go for a stroll. Other times, they'll just eat somewhere around the neighbourhood, neither of them having the patience to pretend they have any form of culinary skills.

 

Montana joins them whenever she can, and other times they walk over to Jo and Auba's place to grab lunch with them.

 

But mostly it's just them in the park, walking around, like today.

 

"I don't know how I ever thought you were nice," Marco mutters, his crooked smile belying his words.

 

"It's a talent," Mario hums, feeling himself vibrate with excitement when Marco chuckles next to him. They're quiet for a few steps, before Mario turns serious eyes towards Marco. "You were saying something? About you thinking?"

 

"Yeah," Marco nods, his face a little more sober, but the hint of a smile still there. "I don't want you to freak out or anything, but I've been thinking..." He repeats, trailing off for a moment, furrowing his brow, and Mario feels something unpleasant in his stomach. "I think you should come to Dortmund with me for Christmas," he blurts out in one go, and Mario breathes a sigh of relief despite himself, having imagined a lot worse than that.

 

He takes a moment to repeat Marco's words in his head, and his eyes widen almost comically when he realizes exactly what he's being asked to do here.

 

"Marco-"

 

"Before you say no, hear me out," Marco interrupts, holding out his palm in front of Mario and stopping them both in their tracks. "It doesn't mean anything," Marco starts. "You and I, we're friends, and have been only that since the beginning, so I'm not under some illusion that whisking you away to Dortmund with me is gonna change that," Marco explains, and Mario feels his heart squeeze and his stomach drop. There's too many things wrong with what Marco's suggesting here, too many things right with the way he's suggesting it. "I wouldn't ask you to come to Dortmund of all places if I was planning on wooing you, and we're flatmates now on top of it all, and I like living with you, so I really don't want to make this anymore awkward than it needs to be," Marco mutters under his breath, and Mario laughs uncomfortably. He doesn't know what bothers him more, the fact that Marco might still want to "woo" him, or the fact that Marco has seemingly decided to move on for the greater good. "And anyway, that's not the point," he continues. "The point is, you're my friend. And everyone's going away for Christmas, and I can't let you stay here alone."

 

Mario smiles almost sadly, unsure what he's done to deserve that kind of affection. But what Marco's suggesting here, going back to Dortmund... He's not sure he can do that.

 

"I'm fine with staying alone," he tries, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "I've been doing that for the past I don't know how many years."

 

"And I don't want you to have to do it again," Marco argues. "If you're staying here, I'm staying with you. Period. But I really, really, really like going home for Christmas. And my parents' house is big, you'll have your own room and everything, and I'll make sure it's far enough from the kids' that they don't wake you up in the morning."

 

"Marco-"

 

"Look, don't say no now," Marco begs, squeezing Mario's fingers. "Think about it for a few days."

 

"Okay," Mario mumbles, looking down at hands. "I'll think about it."

 

* * *

 

"Hey, Marco? Let's go to Dortmund for Christmas."

 

"Okay, Sunny."

 

* * *

 

He tries not to think about it for the next month. So, naturally, think about it is all he does, worrying himself stupid on more than one occasion, wondering if he can still back out of it.

 

Marco distracts him with movies and pretzels and Montana takes him to a tattoo parlour a week before Christmas, tells him she wants them to get matching tattoos as a Christmas present because tattoos are important and Montana is uncharacteristically corny that way.

 

They end up both getting the same tattoo, a small nondescript "M" on the inside of their left wrist, him for Montana, her for Mario, because did he mention Montana is hella corny?

 

Mario doesn't think about how M is for Marco too.

 

He's startlingly calm, however, the morning of their departure, three full days before Christmas Eve. Marco comes into his bedroom in the morning to help him pack, but is surprised to find Mario is ready and waiting.

 

They go for a pre-holiday breakfast with their entire group of friends before they have to disperse all over the world. Mats and Benni are taking the same train back home with Marco and Mario, but the rest are not. Jo and Auba are spending their holiday in Gabon, André and Montana in Canada, Ann is flying to the Bahamas because of course, and David and Thiago are doing both Austria and Spain to appease both their families. Thomas and Lisa are the only ones staying in Bavaria, spending the holidays with their families, and both planning on visiting one another at home.

 

Breakfast is loud and fun and infuriating all at the same time, and Mario feels his heart swell when they leave the bakery and head towards the train station, mentally kicking himself for his sudden overwhelming sentimentality.

 

The train ride is a quiet one, Mario and Marco each lost in their thoughts as they listen to their music, and Mario wonders when it is exactly that Marco became so important to him, so important that he'd managed to lead him home almost seven years after leaving.

 

It's a scary thought, one he doesn't like to give a lot of time to, but he smiles to himself, watching Mats drool on Benni's shoulder across from them, feeling marginally better knowing that even Greek gods lather out inappropriate amount of spit when sleeping.

 

* * *

 

"Mario...come on...Dortmund...Mario."

 

Mario comes to slowly at first, very much unaware of where he is or why he's there.

 

His head is bent at an uncomfortable angle, his cheek rested against his shoulder awkwardly, which probably explains the terrible pain he feels in his neck. He can hear the faint sound of music in one of his ears, and when he blinks his eyes open, a familiar pale face and a set of chapped lips smiling crookedly at him swim into focus.

 

“We’re here,” the face – Marco – whispers gently, and Mario feels something brush his cheek gingerly. He realizes Marco’s hand is cupping his face a little belatedly, straightens up slightly when he does.

 

“What?” He asks dumbly, blinking a few more times, and everything comes back to him all of a sudden.

 

A train ride. Marco. Christmas.

 

He fell asleep.

 

Mario’s neck protests uncomfortably, Marco’s fingers slipping from his face. He feels cold at the loss of contact, but he has no time to dwell on that because Marco’s hand travels along his arm until it reaches his palm, Marco’s long fingers wrapping themselves carefully around his hand and tugging gently.

 

“Come on, Sunny,” he urges as he pulls Mario up to his feet. “We’re in Dortmund.”

 

Mario feels his heart seize in his chest painfully, the air threatening to leave his lungs, but when he looks past Marco, Benni and Mats are staring at him with caring eyes and encouraging smiles, and it miraculously makes Mario feel a little bit better.

 

“Yeah,” he whispers hoarsely, nodding mechanically and pulling his duffel onto his shoulder. “Okay.”

 

Marco doesn’t let go of him when they follow Mats and Benni off the train and onto the platform. Mario doesn’t feel strong enough to listen to the rational side that’s telling him to stay away from Marco. So he doesn’t. He’s in Dortmund. There’s nothing rational about that to begin with.

 

He tightens his grip on Marco’s hand instead, smiling gratefully when Marco turns questioning eyes at him.

 

Dortmund Central Station hasn’t changed since the last time Mario saw it, not really, and he finds it doesn’t take him any effort to find his way, walking next to Marco as they navigate the station mechanically, their hands locked together as they swing between them almost joyfully.

 

They stop to say goodbye to Benni when they reach the intersection to the trains towards Gelsenkirchen. Mario feels himself growing warm when Benni envelops him into a tight hug, surprisingly strong arms curving themselves around Mario’s shorter frame, Mario’s stomach doing flip-flops when his boss whispers into his ear about how he’s happy Mario’s finally made it home.

 

Mario and Marco walk away from their friends to leave them to say their goodbyes in relative peace, Mario’s nerves finally catching up to him when they start climbing the open stairs towards the busy Dortmund street.

 

It’s funny how _small_ Mario feels in that moment, how completely helpless and almost scared he is.

 

The afternoon sky is cold and grey like it always is in Dortmund, the air thick and cold on Mario’s face, the North-Westphalian breeze harsh and comforting against his bones.

 

He stops in his tracks for some time, breathing deeply, because he’s really here and he’s really back and it smells like home, like he remembers and-

 

“You’re okay?” Marco whispers, and Mario opens his eyes to find their faces inches apart, Marco’s eyes green and big and worried, the pads of his fingers light and soothing against Mario’ cheek.

 

Mario sighs in unmistakable relief, nodding his head almost frantically because he is, he’s good and he’s back and he can feel the smile growing on his face, threatening to split it in half, Marco’s own mirroring hi-

 

“Reus, you beautiful son of a bitch!”

 

Mario and Marco jumps apart suddenly like they’ve been burned, the unfamiliar – yet somehow familiar – voice startling them out of their bubble.

 

Marco turns to look at the intruder, and when Mario follows his line of sight he finds a guy standing a little further behind them, tall, dark and handsome – of course – and looking at Marco like the sun shines out of his ass. Which Mario sometimes suggests it does.

 

Mario shakes his head bitterly as he stares at the exchange, Marco’s face breaking out into a huge grin that makes Mario’s stomach recoil.

 

“Don’t talk about my mama like that, Hummels,” Marco warns as he meets the guy halfway and wraps his arms tight around him.

 

_Hummels._

That should ring a bell, Mario thinks, tell him something about who this person is, probably, but he’s too busy glaring to think straight, really, and it’s only when Marco turns a pair of shimmering eyes towards him and nods at him that he snaps out of it.

 

“Mario, this is Jonas, Mats’ brother,” Marco introduces, and everything finally clicks into place. Mario smiles dumbly, almost flustered, feeling a little stupid and a little petty and very much relieved. Jonas smiles at him warmly, his grin easy and infectious, not unlike Mats. “Mario,” Marco tells Jonas. “My…um—Mats’ and my roommate.”

 

“Nice to finally meet you,” Jonas tells him honestly, shaking his hand.

 

_Finally._

 

“Likewise,” he mutters, his cheeks growing warm.

 

“So, where is my darling brother?” Jonas asks, craning his neck to look at the flight of stairs that lead to the station below.

 

“Benni,” Marco groans in lieu of an answer, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

 

Jonas groans audibly, furrowing his brow. “Please tell me they got their shit together.”

 

Mario snorts before he can stop himself, his eyes widening when Jonas looks at him curiously.

 

“Sorry,” Mario stammers, flushing a darker shade of red. “Benni’s my boss,” he tries for an explanation. “You can understand why no one would be happier than me if they got their shit together.”

 

“Yes, I can,” Jonas agrees, nodding lightly and laughing heartily. “Speak of the devil,” he adds, and when Mario looks back he finds Mats finally catching up to them.

 

“Oh good, they sent me a driver.”

 

“Actually, I’m here for Reus and his boy.”

 

Mario’s pretty sure his cheeks catch fire as Jonas flips his brother off, laughing rather nervously as he watches them fall back into each other’s arms.

 

He’s momentarily distracted by fleeting memories of him and Fabian, which he quickly pushes back far enough that he can pretend that they’re not there.

 

Jonas and Mats walk ahead of them when they’re done, and Marco waits for Mario to walk up to him before he starts following them.

 

He bumps their shoulders together, smiling when Mario looks up at him.

 

“Okay?”

 

Mario takes a second to consider the question.

 

Mats and Jonas are walking close together ahead of them. The air is refreshingly cold and smells unmistakably of home, and when Mario looks to his right, he can see the outline of the newly-inaugurated football museum.

 

When he looks back at Marco, the “yes” he chokes out is a lot more sincere than he expects.

 

* * *

 

Jonas Hummels, Mario comes to learn during the short ride from Central Station to Marco's parents' place, has no semblance of a filter and is somehow louder than both Ann and Auba combined.

 

In the space of a measly twelve minutes, Mario has way more information than he ever needed about both Mats and Marco, enough to blackmail them for a lifetime, including the time Jonas caught them kissing - both their first kisses! - when they were ten and he was eight. Mats does an impossibly impressive combination of a glare and an eye roll as he tries to explain to Mario that they'd been practicing because they were going to their first unchaperoned birthday party that weekend, and Marco tells him that he'd realized two things on that day: a) he was very much into kissing boys, and b) he was very much not into kissing Mats Hummels.

 

By the time the car comes to a halt in front of a two-story house on Berliner Straße, Mario feels all warm and fuzzy, his body tingling where he's touching Marco, connected from shoulder to hip to knee, neither seemingly in any hurry to move despite the large space on either side of them.

 

Mario finds himself laughing genuinely when Jonas' eyes find his in the rear-view mirror, waggling his eyebrows suggestively when Mats orders Marco to tuck his shirt into his shorts to bed so he won't get a stomach ache in the morning.

 

They finally shuffle out of the car when Marco promises to text them when they sort out their plans for the next few days, and Mats jumps out of the car to wrangle his roommates into a group hug before he finally lets them go.

 

"That was....interesting," Mario mutters as he walks along with Marco towards the front door, smiling as he still basks in the warmth of the car ride to Marco's place.

 

"It was something alright," Marco agrees as he shrugs his shoulders and breathes happily through his teeth.

 

Neither of them has any time to dwell further on that, because the next minute, the front door slams open, and Mario has no time to process the loud screech of "UNCLE MARCO'S HERE!" before a small, blond hurricane of a boy is sprinting down the front steps and into Marco's unsuspecting arms.

 

Marco loses his duffle on the floor at the force of the hit, desperately trying to gain his footing without toppling over with the child in his arms. Mario grins widely as he quickly presses himself behind Marco, his face nearly buried between Marco's shoulder blades and his hands cupping his roommate's waist as he tries to help him steady himself.

 

Marco's arms finally tighten around the small boy and he straightens up enough to look back at Mario, his lips quirking up as he shoots him a grateful look.

 

"You must be Mario," the boy in question hears someone say, and he averts his eyes from Marco's to find a young woman coming up to them, slightly older than Marco, he thinks, with dimples so familiar-looking and eyes kinder than any he's ever seen.

 

He finally moves away from Marco and the boy still in his arms, trying not to blush at the girl's appraising look, at the knowing glint in her eyes when she looks from him to Marco and back again.

 

Mario doesn't know what to expect exactly when she waddles over and comes to a stop in front of him, her protruding belly almost poking his navel, but it's certainly not for her to throw her arms around him, enveloping him in a hug so warm Mario almost forgets that he doesn't technically know this person.

 

Or maybe he does. Mother hen. _Yvonne._

 

"It's nice to meet you, Yvonne," he mumbles eventually, his voice muffled and happy and he genuinely means it.

 

“Please, no one calls me Yvonne but my mum,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes as she pulls away. “Ivy.”

 

Mario laughs softly, and Marco's looking at him all funny when Ivy finally lets go of him, like he's never seen anything more amazing than Mario Götze right now.

 

He tries for a smile, but is saved from the effort when the small boy tucked into Marco's arms pulls away from burying his face in his shoulder, hands firmly clasped together behind Marco's neck as he peers over at the unfamiliar boy next to them.

 

"Are you Marco's best friend?"

 

Mario smiles at the young boy, sputtering for words for a second before Marco intervenes.

 

"He's one of my best friends, yes," Marco answers as he nods his head, an unexpected warmth spreading through Mario's body at the confirmation. "And you're one of them too," Marco adds, raising his eyebrows at Nico who brightens up delightedly. "So I hope you and Mario can get along, Nico."

 

"But I'm your nephew, Uncle Marco," Nico argues after a minute, his face falling slightly. "How can I be your best friend if I'm your nephew?"

 

"Pfffft," Mario scoffs before he knows what he's doing, catching Marco and Nico's attention. "Who says you can only be one thing or the other? I'm Marco's roommate and his best friend."

 

"Really?" Nico asks, his eyes widening with unbridled hope as Marco finally settles him on the floor.

 

"Really," Mario reassures, nodding his head for emphasis.

 

"I'm Nico," the small boy finally introduces himself, taking a step closer to stand in front of Mario, extending a small hand his way. "I'm my uncle's best friend and his nephew and I'm gonna be six years old in February."

 

"It's nice to meet you Nico," Mario tells him, shaking his hand. "I'm Mario. I live with your uncle and eat way too many pretzels."

 

* * *

 

Marco's house is warm. His mum has laugh lines around eyes that nearly disappear into her face whenever she smiles at Marco, his dad pours them some mulled wine as soon as they've made it through the threshold, Melanie and Yvonne tease their brother mercilessly, their kids running around in the living room, Mia crawling onto the couch and wedging her small body between Marco and Mario, and Marco's house is just warm.

 

* * *

 

"Mario! Hey."

 

Mario feels something like relief course through him at the sound of his little's brother's voice on the other end of the line, warm and familiar to the point where it nearly overwhelms him.

 

He's sitting smack in the middle of Marco's bed, blankets pooling around him, and he can hear Marco rummaging through some cupboards in the ensuite bathroom. He doesn't like to think about how domestic this all feels.

 

True to his word, Marco made sure his parents had set up the guest bedroom for Mario, the one at the furthest end of the hallway, the biggest room in the house. But when he found out that meant Marco had to sleep on the couch so that Ivy and her husband could have his room, Mario wouldn't accept, insisting instead that they take the guest bedroom, promising he didn't mind sharing a room with Marco. They already live together as it is, and Marco's bed is big enough for three people, it really doesn't make sense to go through all of this trouble just so that Mario can be comfortable. He'll never admit it to anyone either, but he's way more comfortable in Marco's childhood bed than he would've ever been in that guest room all alone.

 

"Hey Felix," he mumbles almost sleepily, gnawing on his bottom lip fretfully and pulling at a small thread on his shorts. He's exhausted. His socks are frayed, ragged and thin around their heels, his left big toe threatening to poke through the worn fabric, and the room smells unmistakably like Marco.

 

"Are you okay?" Felix asks, and Mario knows he's knitting his eyebrows together. It's a little after ten in the evening, not that late, but Mario almost always calls Felix in the morning, never particularly thrilled to catch up with his brother when he might be home.

 

"Yeah, yeah," Mario reassures hurriedly, nodding his head even though his brother can't see him. "I'm okay," he adds, his voice a little more sure. He's quiet for another moment. He takes a deep breath before he speaks again. "I'm in Dortmund."

 

His voice is a lot weaker than he means it to be, and he can hear the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

 

"Did you just say you're in Dortmund?" Felix checks after a moment, and Mario smiles to himself. He hears some commotion on the phone and he knows Felix is checking the number on his screen.

 

"Stop looking at your phone like it's going to transform into a little robot and attack you," Mario mumbles into the receiver, the smile evident in his voice, and Felix groans.

 

"Do you need me to pick you up?" Felix asks, and Mario smiles wider.

 

"You don't even have a car," he argues, rolling his eyes to no one in particular. Marco chooses that exact moment to come out of the bathroom, offering a soft half-smile when his eyes meet Mario's.

 

"I have a highly-functioning public transport system at my service," Felix protests, and Mario chuckles, blushing at the way Marco's looking at him.

 

Marco's grin widens when he sees that, turning to pick up his phone off the desk in the corner of the room, and moving towards the window. Mario watches the way Marco's grey T-shirt lifts a little when he stretches on the tips of his toes to pull the curtains close together, a smooth strip of milky skin peeking out from underneath, Marco's boxers and shorts indecently hugging the curve of his ass. Mario licks his lips almost involuntarily until he hears his brother clear his throat in his ear. He flushes and averts his eyes in time for Marco to miss them, shuffling over to the right side of the bed and making room for Marco on the left side, pulling only one of the blankets along with him.

 

"It's okay," Mario says finally, trying to concentrate on his brother's quiet breathing on the other end of the line instead of the way the mattress dips when Marco crawls into bed next to him. His heart is beating erratically. "I'm staying over at a friend's place."

 

"Oh."

 

Mario tries to move past the disappointment in Felix's voice.

 

"Anyway, we're going to the Christmas Market tomorrow afternoon," Mario powers through, swallowing thickly when Marco turns the lights off, leaving them alone in the relative darkness, their phones illuminating the room in a white glow. "I wanted to see if you could meet us there."

 

"We?" Felix asks.

 

"My friend Marco--roommate, actually," he amends, and Marco chuckles a little next to him, earning himself a smile out of Mario. "His family's going, and we're meeting some friends there, and I don't know. I miss you. I'm in Dortmund. I'd love it if you could meet us there. You'd love Marco."

 

"I already do," Felix says honestly, and Mario knits his eyebrows, feeling his throat close up.

 

He sneaks a glance at Marco, his profile lightly illuminated by the soft glow of his phone, the small bump on his nose and the curve of his lips highlighted by the shadows.

 

"How come?" He whispers hoarsely, sinking further down into the mattress until he's lying down, and he turns on his side so he's facing away from Marco, trying to put some distance between them and his straying thoughts.

 

"He's brought you home," Felix shrugs and Mario feels his heart squeeze, gulping audibly, but Marco, bless him, makes no move that suggests he's aware of anything that's going on around him. "Anyway, yes. Definitely. I'll meet you there tomorrow. Around six?”

 

Mario breathes a sigh of relief. He and Felix have always been on good terms, but there's always this part of him that's terrified his little brother is going to wake up one day and realize that Mario walked out on him.

 

He shuts his eyes tightly before he speaks, letting out a shaky breath.

 

"Great. That's great. I'll see you tomorrow, Felix."

 

"Bye, big brother," Felix mutters into the receiver before the line goes dead.

 

Mario keeps his eyes closed, holding the phone close to his chest and breathing rather loudly.

 

"Night, sunny," Marco tells him later, just as Mario's starting to drift into sleep.

 

He pulls his phone away from himself, placing it on the nightstand before he buries his face deeper into his pillow, breathing in and wiping away the wetness against his cheeks.

 

It smell like Marco. Everything does.

 

"Night, Marco."

 

* * *

 

Mario positively runs when he spots Felix across the car park the next day.

 

It takes him a moment to realize Felix is towering over him, but Mario only wraps his arms tighter around his brother's waist, closing his eyes as he breathes his brother in. He smells like Fabian's hand-me-down cologne and a little bit of sweat and home, the same as Mario when he was his age.

 

Except that, unlike Mario, when they pull away, Felix is looking down at him, nearly as tall as Mats is - Mario has no idea where he gets it from, they're all bordering on hobbit territory in the family - and a lot blonder than Mario remembers. The last time he saw Felix was a little over a year ago, when his little brother went down to Memmingen to spend some time at his grandparents' place. He'd had braces on back then, which he doesn't wear anymore, his teeth lined perfectly when he grins openly at Mario. His cheeks are still a little chubby, but they’re now overshadowed by strong lines around his jaw and the beginning of what Mario thinks is a stubble.

_Khm. Good luck trying to make that happen_ , he thinks as he looks at his brother's soft head of hair. Götzes were never particularly well-equipped in the facial hair department.

 

"Stop looking at me like you've changed my diaper before or something," Felix teases, smacking Mario's jaw closed, and laughing when his brother lets out an unsuspecting squeak.

 

"I'm just wondering when you doubled in size and forgot to tell me," Mario shoots back, straightening his shoulders and smiling at his brother.

 

Felix's smile falters for only a split second, the underlying _you weren't there_ clear as days in his eyes, before he pulls himself together and looks over Mario's shoulder.

 

Mario sways from one foot to the other before following Felix's line of sight and turning to find Marco coming up to them, with the entire Reus clan a little further behind them.

 

Mario smiles involuntarily when his eyes meets Marco's worried ones, feeling himself relax a little more the closer he gets, until they're standing shoulder to shoulder.

 

Felix is looking at them all funny when they turn back to him, and the tips of Mario's ears heat up.

 

"Hey man," Felix says after a moment, extending a hand towards Marco. "I'm Felix. Mario's brother."

 

"Marco," the boy in question introduces himself, grinning widely as he shakes Felix's hand. “Roommate.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Felix tells him, eyeing the BVB beanie perched on top of Marco’s head. “At least your roommate has better taste in football teams than you do,” he comments as he turns a teasing eye at his brother, and Marco chuckles in absolute glee next to them.

 

“Everyone has better taste in football than he does,” Marco adds at the same time the rest of his family joins them.

 

Mia nearly throws herself out of Melanie’s arms and into Mario’s as Marco introduces Felix to the rest of his family, having taken a real shine to him. Melanie shoots him an apologetic look and her husband offers to take Mia off Mario, but he only shoos them away, holding on to Mia and following Marco and Felix, who seem deep in conversation already, towards the market.

 

* * *

 

He sees Julian first. He hasn’t seen him since he left Dortmund, not really, but he’d recognize that face full of freckles and wide toothy smile anywhere.

 

He feels his own grin grow widen as he elbows Marco next to him, and when he looks back at the table where Julian’s seated, he notices the tufts of platinum blond hair next to him, styled to perfection, and he realizes Erik is looking right back at him, smile bright as he slowly gets up from the bench where they’re sitting.

 

Mario’s feet move on their own accord, and he walks so fast towards them he’s almost jogging, Marco and Felix trailing somewhere behind him. The rest of Marco’s family is getting them some food, and Mats and Jonas should be here any minute.

 

Mario and Erik finally meet up in the middle of the market, arms wrapping around each other as Erik laughs in Mario’s ear. They never exactly kept in touch, but it’s so good to see him, so entirely familiar that it takes Mario a full minute to remember they’re not fourteen and meeting up to go to the park and play football.

 

“Look at you, man,” Mario says excitedly, pulling away and running a hand over Erik’s nearly white locks. He’s got a full beard too, soft and golden and the Erik he remembers had a permanently shy air to him and the rosiest cheeks he’s ever seen. His cheeks are still rosy, he can see that even under all that hair, but when he moves away from Mario to wrap his arms around Marco next to him, he seems so sure of himself, so certain of what and who he is it almost makes Mario’s stomach turn.

 

Mario takes the chance to hug Julian, and when they pull away, Mario notices the short, stocky guy who just walked up to hug Marco briefly. His eyebrows are knitted together when he looks over to Mario, but when Julian ushers him over, his face relaxes just a smidge.

 

“Mario, this is Jack, our boyfriend, but you can call him Wilsh,” Jules says, like it’s so completely normal, that thing the three of them are having. And Mario realizes that it probably is. “Wilsh, this is Mario. We used to ride the same bus to school.”

 

“Nice to meet you, mate,” Wilsh tells him, his English accent thick as Mario shakes his hand.

 

He wants to say something back, but he’s momentarily distracted when Erik walks over to Felix and actually hugs him. Erik’d been to his place a fair few times when they were kids, what with them living on the same street and all, but he’s not sure it warrants him and Felix actually hugging.

 

Mario raises his eyebrows at them both, and when Erik meets his eyes, he frowns a little before turning back to Felix.

 

“You haven’t told him, have you?” He asks Felix, smirking somewhat conspiratorially.

 

Felix shrugs, the tips of his ears turning a faint pink colour, and Mario looks between the two of them, not really sure of what’s going on.

 

“It doesn’t exactly come up when we’re on the phone for only a few minutes every few days,” Felix mumbles, and Mario feels a sudden kick in his chest. It always boils down to Mario not really being there.

 

“Your brother and my brother,” Erik explains after a moment, rolling his eyes, a fond smile on his face. “Don’t worry, Lukas is a good kid, and he never shuts up about Felix,” Erik adds before Mario can say anything, and Felix’s cheeks are positively on fire now. “He’ll be here in a bit, so you can give your seal of approval then.”

 

Mario doesn't think he deserves to have any say in this, but Felix is looking at him so pleadingly, Mario almost believes his opinion counts here. He tries to wrack his brain for a memory, anything to remember Erik's little brother, but he comes up rather short.

 

"If he's anything like you, Durm, then keep him as far away from the boy as possible," Marco comments casually, and Mario finally loosens up when Erik barks a laugh.

 

Marco's hand crawls up Mario's back and settles on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, reassuring.

 

It strikes Mario how easy it is for Marco to read him, how he instinctively knows how overwhelming all of this might be.

 

He feels Marco getting ready to pull back, so he irrationally relaxes his weight against him to keep him from it, basking in the warmth that emanates from Marco's body, pressed from shoulder to ankle against him. Marco scoots even closer at the invitation, his hand falling from Mario's shoulder and onto his collarbone, forearm pressed against the back of his neck now.

 

"He's more a Jules than an Erik," Wilsh comments, and Mario smiles at him.

 

He can feel Erik looking between him and Marco like he knows something, but he ignores him as he draws his eyes towards his brother.

 

"I suppose that's marginally better," Mario approves, nodding lightly. "Let's just hope he's not a Schalke fan too, because that'll be a deal breaker."

 

* * *

 

Mario's onto his third helping of waffles when Mats and Jonas show up.

 

They've been pretty much hunkered over one end of a long wooden table for the past hour by then, sharing a dozen different plates of food between them, slightly buzzed on beer and thrumming with so much energy that Mario temporarily forgets why he was so reluctant to go back to Dortmund in the first place.

 

The Hummelses join them as soon as they're there, throwing a couple plates of fresh currywurst and a mountain of fries on the table before they flank themselves across from each other.

 

Lukas shows up not long after that, flushed and flailing and a million apologies falling out of his mouth before he's even made it to their table, carefully tucking his skateboard and backpack under the bench before leaning down to kiss Felix brashly. It's short and abrupt and enough to cause Felix to blush an alarming shade, his wide eyes meeting Mario's amused ones across the table as Lukas finally straightens up long enough to take in the people around them.

 

"Sorry, hi," Lukas mumbles eventually, pushing his blond locks off his face and smiling at the company. His cheeks are still flushed, probably from the cold, his features so much like the Erik he remembers. His eyes wander over to Mario for a second before turning to take in Jonas and Mats, the only three people on the table he doesn't actually know.

 

"Lukas," Erik greets him with an amused grin, a twinkle in his eyes as he turns from Mario to his brother. "This is Mats and his brother Jonas," he tells him, pointing at the pair of siblings, before he turns in slow and dramatic fashion to look at Mario. "And this is Mario," he adds casually, shrugging his shoulders. "Felix's brother."

 

Lukas' eyes widen to an alarming size before he coughs violently, holding one closed fist to his mouth as Wilsh pats him on the back in rather amused fashion.

 

"You--" _cough cough_ , "didn't sa--" _cough cough cough_ , "-yo--" _cough_ , "--bro--" _cough cough cough_ , "-ther?"

 

He sounds almost hysterical, not really sure where to look as he tries to settle down.

 

"I didn't know he'd be here until last night!" Felix hisses defensively, covering his face to hide his embarrassment.

 

"We talked this morning!" Lukas squeals, shooting Mario a nervous look and smiling almost violently.

 

"For a minute," Felix defends lamely. "I didn't know how to tell you."

 

"Okay, okay," Mario interrupts before either of them can say anything else, watching with amused eyes as Lukas stands frozen in a half-seated position, his elbows resting on the table and his backside still floating uncomfortably. "As fun as it is to see you both squirm," Mario continues, waggling his eyebrows at his brother, "I'm starting to feel bad for you." He fixes his face into a less threatening smile, extending a hand over to Lukas. "It's nice to finally meet my brother's boyfriend," he tells him gently. Lukas relaxes at last, actually sitting down next to Felix, who peeks out hesitantly from behind his fingers.

 

"You too," Lukas says finally, shaking Mario's hand. Mario's almost tempted to laugh at the sweaty quality of it, but he holds himself together, unwilling to make this any harder on his brother. "Your brother talks about you a lot."

 

"I wish I could say the same," Mario trails off, raising his eyebrows pointedly at Felix as Lukas chuckles next to him.

 

"Yeah, Felix isn't all that keen on telling people about us yet," Lukas explains rather calmly, like they've talked about it, like he's got no problem with Felix setting the pace. It's comforting, and Mario shoots a grateful look at Erik. "Doesn't want your parents finding out like that."

 

"Well, you're certainly going about it the right way, planting one on him in public like that," Wilsh mutters under his breath, knitting his eyebrows together and looking completely unsatisfied with the world. It's a look he wears more often than not, Mario's starting to notice.

 

He feels something burn uncomfortably in his chest. Felix is dealing with way too much way too early. It's somewhat easier knowing someone's helping him out.

 

"What about your parents?" Mario asks after a minute, swallowing around the discomfort in his throat.

 

"Oh, them," Lukas shrugs, looking at Felix who's finally showing his face, a fond smile gracing his features as he looks from his boyfriend to his brother. "Yeah, they think he's the greatest thing to have happened to me since I learned how to walk. Would probably be willing to trade me for him," he adds easily, and Erik nods approvingly.

 

"Well, can't exactly blame them," Mario throws casually, enjoying the way his brother looks both flushed and pleased to no ends. "He has that effect."

 

* * *

 

By the time Julian suggests they go ice-skating, it's around midnight and Mario's not even sure the rink is still open, but he's too happy and way too buzzed to really object.

 

Marco's family has long since gone home to put the kids to bed, only Mario and his makeshift group of friends remaining at the market, along with a few people milling around them.

 

They're way too loud for this late at night, too comfortable for this cold a weather, too gay for anywhere in the world, really, judging by the few disgruntled stares they get, and Mario has a really hard time giving a damn about any of it. Not when Felix is laughing this wildly across from him. Not when Erik is sitting between his boyfriends - boyfriends, with an s, and Mario still can't wrap his head around any of this - like he fucking belongs there. And certainly not when Mario's pressed this close to Marco, sinking further into him as the night drags on.

 

The market's shutting down by the time they finally shuffle out of their seats and swagger their way over to the skating rink, Mario walking close to his brother with one arm wrapped loosely around his shoulder, because he can, because he's in Dortmund and he's missed Felix and he simply fucking can.

 

He immediately recognizes Jürgen, the ice-skating rink keeper, who used to tie Mario's skates for him when he was little and couldn't pull hard enough on the laces to fix them properly. Jürgen recognizes him too, recognizes all of them, really, judging by his booming laughter and the way he hugs Erik and Marco and Mario a little too eagerly, ruffling the Hummelses' model-esque hair and grinning almost proudly at Lukas and Felix's intertwined fingers. He even manages a laugh out of Wilsh, waving them off when they offer to pay him for their skates, muttering something about last calls being on the house.

 

His eyes twinkle behind his thick-rimmed glasses as he hands them the rented skates, instructing them to leave them right next to the rink when they're done, before tipping his cap to them and disappearing into the night.

 

Mario glides confidently on the ice as soon as he’s inside the rink before Mats shoves him lightly, causing him to teeter precariously on his skates, holding on to Marco for balance and ultimately bringing them both down, landing half on top of Marco. He can't stop giggling as he curses violently at Mats, especially not when Marco buries his laughter in Mario's stomach, their faces flushed and their voices echoing in the Dortmund night.

 

He can hear Wilsh muttering grumpily to himself as Jules skates elegant circles around him, occasionally holding his hands to keep him from falling, and causing him to topple over and groan audibly nearly every single time. Erik's way too busy showing off to Mats to really do anything about it, limiting himself to pecking an unsuspecting Wilsh on the lips any time he passes him by and groping Jules' butt unnecessarily quite a few times.

 

Mario takes a break about twenty minutes into it, escaping Marco's warm grip and climbing to sit at the ledge of the rink, close enough to see his friends push each other on the ice, but far enough that they don't drag him down with them.

 

Erik joins him a short while after that, taking a break from trying to outshine Mats' flowing Hummels-locks and pulling himself up next to Mario.

 

His lips are set in a lopsided smirk when Mario looks at him, cheeks flushed from a devastating combination of alcohol, cold, and exertion, platinum blond hair sticking wildly on top of his head, his black beanie clinging precariously to the back of his skull.

 

"So?" Erik asks after a moment, his eyes almost shining when they meet Mario's.

 

"So?" Mario echoes, his lips quirking up unconsciously, Erik's infectious grin getting to him.

 

"Your reluctant return home," Erik drawls, turning back to look in front of him. "Is it worth it so far?"

 

Mario's taken aback by the question for a moment, realizing suddenly that Erik and Marco might be a lot closer than he was led to believe.

 

It makes sense, in a way.

 

Marco loves coming back to Dortmund. He wouldn't be half as excited about it if he didn't have friends he loved to come back to.

 

Mario stares ahead, his eyes trained on Marco's face, his flushed cheeks and his wide laugh, Felix swatting at his hands as he and Lukas try to corner him against the other side of the rink, Marco's long fingers dangerously close to Felix's ticklish spot. It's not very hard to do, Mario remembers, a pleasant warmth spreading through him and enveloping his bones. Everywhere is Felix's ticklish spot.

 

"So far," Mario shrugs, letting out a shaky breath as he admits it.

 

"And I bet it has nothing to do with Woody," Erik tells him, looking from him to Marco with an infuriatingly knowing smile.

 

"Woody?" Mario asks, knitting his eyebrows together, genuinely confused.

 

"Marco," Erik shrugs. "Old nickname," he explains, dismissive. "Used to run like Woody Woodpecker when we played football, and it kinda stuck." Mario barks a genuine laugh at the mental image, completely on board with the comparison. "Anyway," Erik continues, grin still spread wide on his face. "It's good. You guys are good together."

 

Mario doesn't say anything for a while, heating up lightly and looking down at the imaginary thread he's pulling on his jeans.

 

"He's a good guy," he agrees, a smile on his face as his stomach flip-flops treacherously at the thought of him and Marco together. "But it's not like that."

 

"Could've fooled me," Erik mutters, raising his eyebrows and trying to catch Mario's eyes.

 

"We're not trying to," Mario mumbles, not really sure what to say, growing warm even in the cold weather.

 

Marco looks up suddenly from across the rink, grin spread wide on his face as his eyes find Mario's like he knows they're talking about him. Erik chuckles next to Mario, almost snapping him out of that bubble, but it's Lukas that successfully does that, crashing hard on the floor and laughing wildly as he lies down on his back, his shoulders shaking, Felix kneeling down next to him to check that he's okay. Felix cups Lukas' cheeks with his hands, his smile a little tight as he checks to make sure his boyfriend's still in one piece, and the latter takes advantage of their proximity and pulls an unsuspecting Felix down to meet his lips. Felix's eyes widen as he struggles to keep his balance, his hands slipping on the ice and his forehead knocking together with Lukas'. They dissolve into laughter as Lukas rubs Felix's forehead sweetly, Felix finally getting the message and placing one hand on Lukas' chest until he can pull back enough to meet his lips.

 

It's sweet and adorable and okay, Mario needs to do something about it because his little brother is engaging in a soon-to-be-fully-blown-make-out-session in the middle of a public ice-skating rink, and he might be the cool brother and he might have no right to tell Felix what to do, but there's gotta be something he can do about this.

 

Erik whistles under his breath next to him, straightening up slightly.

 

"Oi!" He calls out, loud enough for everyone to hear. "The underage boys making out on the ice!" He continues, successfully grabbing their attention, Felix's head popping up impressively fast to look at him. "Your older brothers, who are very much here, would rather not see you manifest your relationship in graphic detail, so we'd appreciate it if you can save that for another time."

 

Felix gets up so fast Mario worries he might slip again, extending an arm to Lukas to help him up while the other boy mutters something Mario cannot make out. He pushes Felix's hair off his forehead when he's finally up and standing, leaning down to leave one last short kiss to his lips before he links their fingers together and starts skating easily.

 

"He's a good kid, your brother," Erik tells Mario.

 

Mario's smile turns a little proud, his eyes following his brother on the pitch. "Yeah," he agrees, looking at him fondly. "He is." A beat. "Yours, too."

 

"Mine, too," Erik nods, permanent grin etched on his face. "My parents agree, too. He's not having a ménage-à-trois, for one thing." Erik's eyebrows nearly disappear into his hair.

 

"How does that happen, anyway?" Mario asks curiously, wondering about the semantics of a permanent threesome.

 

"Beats me," Erik shrugs, eyes fixed on Wilsh on the other side of the rink. "Jules and I always made sense to everyone but each other," he continues casually. "Don't get me wrong, we've always loved each other, we _love_ each other, but it took us meeting Jack to understand why it always felt like something was missing. First time the three of us hooked up..." He trails off, sucking on his lower lip a little, his brow furrowed unnaturally as he tries to come up with the right words. "I don't know how to explain it. We made sense, all of a sudden, Jules and me. Because we made sense to him," he shrugs again, trying to go for casual, but Mario can feel how important this is to him, can see it in the way he's looking at Jules and Wilsh, can hear it in the way his voice cracks a little when he speaks. Mario can't imagine himself sharing Marco with anyone else, but to each his own. He realizes exactly the implication of his straying thought a little too late, furrowing his brow a little too sharply as he turns back to focus on Erik. "And, hey," Erik adds after a moment, and Mario's thankful for the distraction. "It's an extra helping of eggs and sausage." He rolls his eyes as Mario chokes out a laugh. "It keeps me on my toes and my parents uncomfortable, so you know. Win/Win."

 

Mario doesn't say anything, only nodding with the biggest smile on his face before shaking his head disbelievingly at his friend. Where the shy little kid that hid behind oversized football jerseys went, Mario doesn't know, but he kind of really likes this new Erik. He's a lot more fun, for one thing.

 

"It wouldn't be the worst thing if it was like that, by the way," Erik speaks after a moment, snapping Mario out of his thoughts.

 

"Huh?"

 

"You and Marco. It's wouldn't be the worst thing."

 

* * *

 

They're walking towards the parking lot where they're all catching a ride with Jonas - how that man thinks he can fit nine fully-grown men into his car, Mario will never know - when Felix sidles up to him and Marco. He bumps his shoulders with Mario's, smiling lightly when he catches his brother's attention.

 

"So, we have a game against Schalke tomorrow at four," he tells him, a hopeful look on his face. "And I wanted to see if you and Marco wanted to swing by Hohenbuschei and maybe watch me play. You haven't done that in a while and-"

 

"No, yeah," Mario interrupts quickly, an eager smile spreading across his lips. "I'd really like that."

 

"If you've got other plans, or you can't, it's-"

 

"No!" Mario cuts him off quickly, his voice echoing in the night. "No, we do--oh. Crap. Fuck." He curses his luck, a little panicked as he looks between Marco and Felix. "We're supposed to go shopping for presents in the afternoon," he mutters, wincing as he tries to figure out what to do.

 

"Oh," Felix mumbles, and Mario can hear it, the disappointment in his voice. He's supposed to be different than his parents, he's supposed to be there and watch Felix do what he loves to do.

 

"Forget it," Marco says next to him, waving a hand dismissively. "We'll go shopping in the morning. Might be a bitch, waking up early after tonight, but we've functioned under worse circumstances."

 

"No, it's really okay, you don-"

 

"We'll be there," Marco interrupts Felix again, a finality to his voice, and Mario shoots him the most grateful look he can muster. "We gotta be there to watch you make Jules cry."

 

* * *

 

Things finally settle down when they make it to Marco's room, the effect of this long, fun, tiring day seeping into Mario's bones.

 

He takes his jacket off and throws it on the back of the desk chair, smoothing out his sweater. 

 

When he turns to look at Marco, he's looking back at him, his eyes soft around the edges.

 

He brought him back to Dortmund. He brought him back to Felix and he's putting Mario's needs ahead of his own.

 

Something courses through Mario, some sort of liquid emotion Mario would very much like to ignore traveling through his body, pulsing through him until the need to just walk over to Marco and wrap his arms around him is suddenly impossible to ignore.

 

_It wouldn't be the worst thing if it was like that._

 

It really wouldn't. Or maybe Marco would hurt him like he knows he's going to, eventually.

 

He closes his eyes for a minute, sighing audibly, and when he opens them, Marco's eyes are on him, confused and worried and reluctantly sad, and Mario stops thinking. It might have a lot to do with the level of alcohol he's consumed, but he feels braver than he's ever felt all of a sudden, ready and trusting and just.... okay. He walks over slowly to where Marco's standing, his eyes focused on the other boy's despite his buzz. He doesn't think about it when he hooks two fingers into Marco's belt loop, doesn't analyse it when he pulls him over and Marco comes easily, willingly, pressing so close together until they're chest to chest, hip to hip, Mario's forehead against Marco's cheek, his breath tickling the blond's neck. He closes his eyes and breathes a little shakily, feels Marco sigh in unmistakable content. He pulls back only a little, until he can look at Marco, and his stomach flip-flops when he finds his eyes closed, like he's savouring every moment of this. Marco's shaky fingers come to rest on Mario's waist, his left hand gripping the fabric of his sweater and the other one losing itself under it until Marco's fingers are splayed all over the area where Mario's right hip meets his waist. Marco opens his eyes, slowly, a flutter at first like he's waking up from the deepest sleep, and when he cracks them fully opened, Mario lingers for only a second longer before he closes the gap between them and presses their lips together.

 

It's soft at first, maybe a little hesitant even, each of them testing the other's limits, Marco's lips gently nipping at Mario's bottom one, Mario carefully raking his fingers through Marco's hair. But then, Marco sucks a little too eagerly on Mario's lips, and it feels like flesh memory kicks in all of a sudden, flashes of their night together assaulting Mario like a pack of rabid wolves who have finally, finally, _finally_ found their prey.

 

Marco gasps into Mario's mouth when the latter slips his tongue in, teeth clashing together and lips hungrily tasting until neither can feel anything else. Marco seems to be on the exact same page as Mario, both his hands now roaming under Mario's shirt, fingers digging into soft flesh, squeezing and almost needy, so much so that Marco unconsciously starts walking Mario backwards until his back hits the wall, until Marco has him cornered between his chest and the concrete, until Mario doesn't want to be anywhere else.

 

It's his turn to gasp this time, and Marco pulls away to look at him with eyes that shouldn't look this worried. They stare at one another for a few seconds, Mario getting lost in Marco's eyes. It's funny how he can make out all those flecks of green and yellow and brown even though it's very dark, neither of them having bothered to turn on the lights when they entered the room, the only glow provided by the window.

 

He can almost hear the question on Marco's lips, the _do you want me to stop_ so stubbornly stuck in his throat, and before he knows it, Mario shakes his head firmly, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms until his hands are firmly gripping Marco's lower back, one of his palms snaking down to cup his butt cheek. It's soft under his fingers, even through the thick fabric of Marco's jeans, and when their hips meet again, he can feel Marco through his pants, half-hard and pressing deliciously against Mario's stomach, and he knows Marco can feel his own erection on his thigh, if the way he's grinding on it is anything to judge by. He pulls Marco back to him, their lips meeting again, and he can't stop, can't keep from touching and kissing and licking his way into Marco's mouth, tasting and feeling and _wanting_.

 

"We should..." Marco trails off, his voice low and so hoarse it shoots straight to Mario's groin, groaning when Mario sucks almost savagely on his lower lip, fingers pushing past the fabric of Marco's shirt until they can feel the skin on his lower back, until they can squeeze and savour every bit of it. "We shouldn't..."

 

"Yeah," Mario agrees, nodding as Marco's lips leave a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, sucking a little harshly below his ear, running his tongue hungrily over the salty flesh until Mario can't stop the moan that escapes his lips. He rakes his fingers over Marco's back slowly until he reaches his neck, threading his digits into his short hair and tugging a little harshly because he apparently has no self-control whatsoever. He can feel more than hear Marco groan in the back of his throat, and it only serves to encourage him to press himself impossibly closer to Marco. "We--" He gasps again when Marco's lips travel back to his mouth, biting on his bottom lip, "should--n't."

 

Marco halts at that, pulling away from Mario and taking a step back until not one part of him is touching Mario, so suddenly that Mario can't stop himself from tumbling forward in surprise. Marco catches Mario before any real damage can occur, gently cupping his elbows to steady him yet pushing him back firmly, his eyes bright and his face so open when he looks at him.

 

"You need to make up your mind, Sunny," he tells him softly, almost pleading. "One way or the other. But you need to make up your mind."

 

Mario closes his eyes for a split second, before walking closer to Marco and linking their fingers together.

 

He doesn't hesitate when he pulls him over to bed, or when he lets himself fall back on the mattress, pulling Marco by his dog tags towards him, or when their lips meet again, gentle and exploring and hungry all at the same time.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, when he wakes up to his face buried in Marco's neck, his roommate's long fingers almost possessive over his waist, he pulls away only a little until he can see Marco's puckered lips, until he can angle his head high enough to meet his lips and sneak a hand between their bodies, palming Marco through his boxers and feeling him smile against his lips.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Mario feels when he wakes up in the morning is an uncomfortable pain in his shoulder.

 

He realizes as he's blinking awake that his arm is awkwardly stretched behind him, draped across the body pressed to his back, and when he tries to move it, fingers tighten around his own.

 

He turns around lazily, trying to find a more comfortable position, craning his neck to look behind him, and when he opens his eyes again, tufts of blond hair tickle his nose, Marco's body moving slowly next to him.

 

Mario smiles to himself and he turns fully until his front is pressed against Marco’s back. He's sore all over, but the particular ache in his lower back clues him in as to why exactly he feels like he's been run over by a double-decker, images of Marco pushing into him until he had to press his fist to his mouth to keep from screaming flashing through his brain and shooting straight up to his already alert cock, until he thrusts his hips involuntarily.

 

Marco chuckles sleepily in front of him, pressing back into him and moving his ass slowly, and Mario makes a sound between a groan and a laugh, wishing he was awake enough to push his boxers down and just take Marco right there.

 

He presses his faces into Marco's neck instead, his lips sucking blindly on the sensitive skin there, dragging their intertwined hands down until they reach the elastic waist of Marco's boxers, pushing past and gripping Marco's shaft tightly between their palms, Mario's thumb lingering on the sensitive skin at the tip until he can feel the slit dripping lightly.

 

"You're not gonna sneak out on me this time?" Marco breathes, his voice hoarse and thick as he tries to stifle his moan.

 

"Can't," Mario mumbles into his skin, nosing at Marco's neck to get more access, Marco pushing his head back and pressing further into him until he's almost on top of him. "Got nowhere else to go."

 

Marco chuckles, pushing his butt out and spreading his legs suggestively. He tightens his hold on Mario's hand, running their fingers up and down his shaft slowly, unable to stop himself from thrusting up into their grip before pushing back further, and Mario thinks he sees white spots behind his closed lids.

 

Whose great idea was it for them to wear boxers to bed anyway?

 

Right, his idea.

 

Marco had insisted that he'd locked the door to his room, that no one would be walking in on them in the morning even if they wanted to, but Mario had stubbornly climbed out of bed to reach for their underwear and make sure they both had them on before they'd fallen asleep again.

 

_Fuck it._

 

He lets go of Marco's hand and pulls out to push their boxers down with frantic fingers, nearly coming apart when Marco whimpers at the loss of touch.

 

His touch. Marco is coming apart too, and it's because of him.

 

It's that thought alone that threatens to push Mario over the edge, and yet keeps him from coming, the need to give Marco this pleasure guiding him as he reaches over Marco's body for the lube and condoms on the nightstand, hastily arranging the rubber onto his cock before squeezing a hefty bit of lube onto his fingers and pushing them into Marco.

 

It's all worth it if only for the way Marco's muffling his moans into his pillow. Mario pulls his fingers out before moving his arm and wrapping his hand around Marco's dick again as he finally pushes his cock into the blond boy, stopping for a short second to allow Marco time to adjust, his muscles stretching and clenching around Mario until he's not sure he can hold on for longer. He starts thrusting into him, slowly at first, backing out and then pushing back until he doesn't know where his own body ends and Marco's begins.

 

He thinks he doesn't really care if anyone hears them, not when Marco's eyes are rolling into the back of his skull like that, not when he's now turning his head to muffle his screams into Mario's lips, their bodies pushing together and moving to a frenetic rhythm Marco can probably play with his eyes closed.

 

Mario groans at the mental image, Marco's long fingers wrapped around two long sticks as he beats wildly on his drums set, hair falling into his eyes, thin white t-shirt half-wet and clinging tightly to his body, tattoos snaking their way up his arms and under his shirt collar like tendrils wrapping themselves possessively around his body.

 

He groans again, he and Marco no longer kissing, their mouths open and smashed together instead like they're trying to share the little oxygen left in their bodies.

 

It doesn't take long for him to bite down on Marco's shoulder after that, muffling the scream that bubbles its way up his throat.

 

He always did have a thing for drummers.

 

* * *

 

He's deliriously happy the entire morning, starry-eyed and dazed as he and Marco bounce from mall to mall to sort out their shopping lists.

 

They make a good team, Mario thinks, and it makes him feel all funny inside, like his organs are trying to tickle his stomach silly.

 

He also can't help but notice how they both seem to be touching, one way or another, at all times. Palms cupping elbows, fingers running absently through short hairs, sneakers bumping under tables, until Mario gives up on pretending he's anything but completely reliant on Marco's touch, reaching out for Marco's hand and linking their fingers casually as they walk, like this is all very natural, like they've been doing it all their lives. Marco's cheeks flush but his thumb rubs circles on Mario's knuckles as they walk, his lopsided smirk on full display as he shoots him a quick look.

 

By the time Melanie meets them for lunch with Nico and Mia in tow, they're done, having checked their long list twice and crossed off every single name on there. They're especially proud of the set of miniature horses they stumbled upon completely by chance at a toy store, the ideal gift for Thomas.

 

They head to Marco's parents' place after lunch, hoping to squeeze in an hour of sleep before they have to go to the academy for Felix's game.

 

Nico's eyes light up when Mario asks him if he wants to go with them, running up to Melanie's room and digging out her old paint sets to prepare a banner for Felix.

 

Marco locks his bedroom door when he and Mario are alone inside, smiling tiredly at Mario as he pulls off his jacket and sweater, leaving him standing there in a thin grey T-shirt and his dark jeans.

 

They haven't been overtly affectionate in front of Marco's family. After all, it’s one thing for Mario, Marco's roommate, to come home for Christmas with him, and a completely different monster for Marco to bring Mario, his....whatever it is they're doing, home to meet his parents.

 

Marco takes a hesitant step towards him, and Mario can see the cautious look in his eyes, like he's waiting for Mario to snap and change his mind at any given moment.

 

Mario lowers his head and smiles as he unzips his hoodie, taking it off and leaving him in a long-sleeved black cotton shirt and his favourite pair of sweatpants.

 

He looks up at Marco while he walks the few steps separating them, one of his hands coming up to cup Marco's cheek on its own accord as he pushes himself on the tip of his toes to leave a soft kiss to Marco's mouth.

 

Marco sighs into his lips, kissing him back with slow deliberation, like he's trying to memorize ever second of it, their lips fitting together perfectly, tiredly, his hand reaching for Mario's bicep, fingers wrapping themselves firmly around it.

 

They're too exhausted to even think about doing anything beyond this slow, comfortable kissing at this point, and either way Mario's enjoying this, their proximity, far too much to suggest anything else.

 

Marco pulls away and wraps long fingers around Mario's wrist, tugging him forward towards the bed. They shuffle around on the mattress until they're lying face to face, Mario's arms pillowing his head, and Marco reaches to tangle his fingers through Mario's hair, raking his short nails slowly over his skull, until Mario drifts off.

 

* * *

 

It’s weird, being in Hohenbuschei. 

 

Mario hasn’t been here since he left Dortmund so long ago.

 

He remembers the place to be a lot bigger, the paint on the walls a lot brighter, the food stall workers a lot older. The training grounds in his memories seem unattainable compared to this, like they never really existed outside his brain. 

 

He still has to stand there for a minute when they get off the bus, has to take a moment to close his eyes and breathe and remind himself that he has a good life. That he’s here for Felix, because Felix needs him to be here. 

 

Marco stands next to him patiently, unhurrying as he holds on to Nico’s hand on his other side. Mario turns to look at him, his exhale coming out all shaky, until Marco’s palm finds Mario’s shoulder, squeezing lightly, reassuringly,  _I’m here for you and you take all the time you fucking need_ , before he pulls away. Mario instinctively reaches out for his hand before it’s all the way down next to him, squeezing lightly and gripping his fingers firmly. He takes one last deep breath and nods his head once, keeping their hands together before they walk forward. 

 

Mario spots Erik immediately when they're inside, his messy blond hair and oversized yellow raincoat sticking out like a sore thumb in the parking lot. 

 

Erik takes one look at their intertwined hands when they're close enough, before looking up at Mario and raising his eyebrows suggestively. Mario chuckles, the tips of his ears turning red, before furrowing his brow in question when Erik offers him a small paper bag. 

 

He lets go of Marco to peek inside, and he can't help but bark a laugh when he finds two pretzels sitting perfectly inside the bag.

 

Nico's eyes light up when he sees the contents of the bag, and Mario doesn't think twice before pulling one out and handing it to the small boy, taking a bite of the other one. 

 

Julian, Wilsh and Lukas make their way over to them with more food, and Mario's stomach churns when he notices Lukas wearing the yellow Dortmund jersey, block letters on his back sitting big and proud: a number, 11, and a very familiar name.  _Götze_.

 

  1. For Felix. Because if this was Mario's jersey, the one he wore all those years ago, it would be a 10. But this is Felix's shirt, and Mario's a bartender in Munich, and he's okay and Felix deserves everything he wants to have.



 

It still feels weird, like Mario's in some dream he hasn't woken up from since he got offered the contract, but it seems less like a nightmare today. His name is still on the back of a football jersey and Felix is on his way to living his dream. If there's one thing Mario's going to make sure happens during his stay in Dortmund, it's that. Felix getting to do what he was never able to.

 

They grab their beers and food and head inside, Lukas leading the way, Nico’s homemade sign tucked safely under his armpit as he holds on to his pretzel.

 

It doesn't take them a long time to spot Felix on the pitch, and Mario can't help the overwhelming feeling of pride that surges through him as they navigate the rows to find their seats. 

 

Felix keeps scanning the crowd every few seconds as he kicks the ball around with one of his teammates on the far side of the pitch, his eyes always landing on the same spot on the bleachers, and Mario guesses this is where his friends usually sit. Lukas leads them there, and Felix’s eyes light up when he finally see them, wide grin spreading on his face in blinding fashion as he waves at them, looking both relieved and excited.

 

The game starts shortly after that, and it takes Felix less than ten minutes after that to assist his first goal. The crowd roars approvingly before they break into song, a tune familiar to Mario from his days playing here, the only difference being the name of the player. 

 

Felix sends an amazing long-range shot that sails past the keeper less than five minutes before halftime and the crowd completely loses it, Mario probably cheering louder than anybody else in the stadium. He nearly breaks Marco’s shoulders as he jumps to hug him in his excitement, the other boy only laughing in surprise before wrapping his arm loosely around Mario’s waist. He keeps it there even when Mario pulls away, and the latter can’t stop smiling for more than one reason now.

 

By the time the ref officially calls for halftime, Dortmund are leading three to one and Jules is looking sour, the cheers of  _Götze! Götze! Götze!_ just about quieting down.

 

Wilsh announces that he’s in desperate need of some more beer about the same time Nico pokes Mario’s leg to tell him he needs to pee, so Mario and Marco volunteer themselves to take Nico to the bathroom and grab some drinks before the second half.

 

Mario goes with Nico to the bathroom while Marco heads to get the drinks, and they’re just about done, Mario having already spied Marco standing near the beer stalls, a few cups of beer littered on the small table next to him, when Marco notices them too, waving them over and starting to pick up their drinks.

 

Mario’s blood suddenly runs cold, his eyes landing on the boy standing a little to Marco’s left, his smile painfully familiar as he talks animatedly to a couple of girls next to him. 

 

He stands frozen to his spot, his eyes wide, the frantic beating of his heart only overwhelmed by the erratic churning in his stomach.

 

Nico tugs on his sleeve to try and catch his attention, and Mario’s just about to comply when  _he_ turns lightly as if sensing Mario’s presence, his smile faltering and his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets when they finally land on Mario.

 

It takes him less than a minute to pull himself together, less than a minute for his smile to reappear, excusing himself and walking over to where Mario is still standing dumbly. 

 

He looks exactly the same. It’s been seven years and his smile still makes him look like he’s all of four years old, his dimples denting his cheeks and his eyes happy slits on his face.

 

He’s so close to Mario now, less than a metre separating them. Mario swallows thickly, his palm sweating as he holds tightly to Nico’s hand, his eyes trained on the boy in front of him.

 

“What are you doing here?” He finally blurts out, his voice breathy and thick all at the same time. He doesn’t think he can swallow.

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” he tells him, and fuck, his voice echoes in Mario’s head, a thousand memories crashing around in there. “I’m here to watch Felix play,” he continues. “I don’t make it a habit to miss his games.”

 

“You never missed mine, either,” Mario chokes out, feeling like a little kid again, desperate for his attention.

 

_That didn’t stop you from selling me out._

“Everything okay?” Mario hears someone ask, and he remembers where he is, all of a sudden. His eyes turn to find Marco standing next to him, features twisted in worry as he looks back and forth between the two of them. He’s not carrying anything, and Mario wonders for an irrational second where all the beer has gone. He looks back to where Marco was standing near the stall a second earlier, and he notices the cups still littering the nearby table. Nico lets go of Mario’s hand and moves to stand next to his uncle.

 

“Yeah,” Mario finally mumbles, blinking a few times and nodding when Marco furrows his brow at him, the worry in his eyes almost unsettling. “Yeah,” he insists. “This is Fabian,” he explains, the name heavy and familiar on his tongue. “My brother.” Marco exhales sharply as his eyes widen before he pulls himself together and extends a hand towards Fabian. “Fab,” he says, the nickname rolling off his tongue before he can think about it. “This is Marco. My…” he hesitates for a second, trying to sort out his jumbled thoughts. “Um—my roommate,” he finally settles on, and Marco stiffens for only a second, way too short for anyone else to notice, but impossible for Mario to miss. 

 

“Nice to meet you,” Fabian tells him, a genuine smile on his face as he shakes Marco’s hand. 

 

“Yeah,” Marco says, trying for a smile, sneaking a quick look at Mario before turning back to Fabian. “Yeah. You too.” His face is almost blank, save for the small smile, but Mario knows him well enough by now to know that he’s trying to put on a front. They’ll have to talk about their situation later. His eyes linger on Fabian for another second before he clears his throat, turning back to his nephew. “Hey, bud, d’ya wanna come with and help me carry all those disgusting cups of beer?” Nico nods. “Unless you want me to stay?” He adds quickly, his eyes moving to catch Mario’s, genuine worry and affection on his face. Still putting Mario’s needs ahead of his own. 

 

“It’s fine,” Fabian jumps in before Mario can say anything else. “Second half’s about to start in a bit anyway, and I don’t wanna miss anything. Felix is doing great,” he shrugs. Mario feels his stomach drop. “He’s always doing great, but he’s more eager to prove himself today, and now I know why.” 

 

“Sure,” Mario mumbles, nodding his head. 

 

“It was good seeing you,” Fabian tells him, walking backwards a few steps, like he can't wait to get out of there, before turning away.

 

“Yeah. Bye, Fab.” 

 

He thinks he might start crying. Marco looks at him with warm, understanding eyes, hesitating for a moment before cupping the back of Mario’s neck and rubbing soothingly. 

 

“Hey, Mario?” Fabian calls back, and Mario turns to look at him. Marco keeps his hand firmly on his neck, and Mario’s almost grateful as he meets his brother’s hopeful eyes. “We’re having lunch at mum and dad’s for Christmas day, like we always did. In case you wanted to come.”

 

Mario swallows thickly, blinking away the tears threatening to fall, before he nods mutely. 

 

“I’ll think about it,” he chokes out, and Fabian nods solemnly, holding his palm up before turning to leave. 

 

Mario nearly trips on his feet when he tries to walk, stumbling for a moment before Marco catches him. 

 

“You guys okay?” Mario hears someone say, and he looks up to find Erik in front of him. “You took too long and the game’s about to resume…” he trails off, his eyes meeting Marco’s. Something passes between them, a silent understanding, and Erik nods mutely before he holds out a hand for Nico. “Nico, how about we go and check on your sign? I think I saw Wilsh trying to steal it while you were gone.” Nico’s eyes widen in horrified fashion before he skips over to Erik and takes his hand.

 

“Wilsh’s beer,” Marco tells Erik, pointing at the cups on the table. Erik nods mutely before walking over there with Nico, picking the cups up and handing some to Nico before the both of them disappear into the throng of people going back in. 

 

Mario exhales tiredly, shutting his eyes tightly in an effort to calm down the storm raging inside of him. Marco sighs next to him, turning fully to face him, cupping the back of Mario’s head with his hand and pulling him close until Mario’s forehead is resting against his collarbone. Mario clings pathetically to Marco’s shirt, needing something real and tangible to hold on to, and Marco bumps his nose against Mario’s temple, leaning down until his mouth is next to Mario’s ear.

 

“You did good,” he whispers, his lips tickling the shell of Mario’s ear, comforting in ways Mario cannot understand.

 

“I didn’t mean to upset you by telling him you’re my roommate,” Mario blurts out before he thinks about it, pulling back to look at Marco, his hands still gripping the other boy’s shirt. “I just didn’t know what we-“

 

“Hey, shhh,” Marco interrupts before Mario can continue, both his hands on Mario’s face, his palms warm and comforting against his cheeks, thumbs grazing his lips. “It’s not important,” he whispers, a staggering honesty to him. “We’ll figure it out later.” Mario nods slowly, before Marco pulls him back to him, Mario burying his face in his neck. “You did good.”

 

* * *

 

Much like a scene straight out of a cliché Christmas movie, Dortmund is covered in a sheet of white snow when Mario wakes up on the 24th. 

 

He and Marco get a whole ten minutes to themselves when they wake up, Mario lying entirely on top of Marco as their mouths meet lazily, before Nico bangs violently on the bedroom door and shouts about building a snowman and starting snowball fights.

 

Marco protests against Mario's mouth when he makes to leave, wrapping his arms tighter around his waist when Mario tries to get up and making a small noise in the back of his throat. Mario only chuckles, his elbows now propped up firmly on the mattress under Marco’s armpits, before he noses Marco's cheek affectionately and leaves a trail of soft kisses on the underside of his jaw, stopping only when he's reached the sensitive skin of his neck, the light hairs on Marco's chin tickling his cheek as he buries his face there. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth, his lips lightly parted but unmoving on the pale, salty skin. He breathes him in, sighing contentedly when he feels Marco exhale shakily against him, slowly running his fingers up Mario's bare back, teasing the skin ever-so-lightly and leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake, before finally tangling his digits in Mario's short hair. 

 

They stay like that, clinging softly to one another, eyes closed as they relish in their newfound proximity. Mario can feel Marco's heartbeat, and he wonders when exactly it happened that this, lying in bed with Marco, locked tightly in his arms, his lips tracing Mario's shoulder lightly, became one of his favourite things to do.

 

He tries not to mull over the thought, doesn't want to linger on the terrifying quality of it and all the implications it can have, so he works on clearing his head as he settles in Marco's grip, nearly falling asleep as Marco's soft breath fans his neck. 

 

The next time Nico bangs on the door, Mario jumps awake and Marco groans, their brief respite from the world coming to an end, but Marco catches Mario's eyes for another short moment, flashing him a lopsided, sleepy grin, before pressing one last open-mouthed kiss to Mario's chin.

 

They spend nearly the entirety of the morning outside in the snow, wrapped up in thick jackets and scarves and beanies, faces flushed and hair falling wildly in their eyes, grins bared for all the world to see. 

 

Mia clings to Mario's neck as he tries to shield her from the terrifying snowball fights the Reuses are raging around them, which culminate in Ivy and Melanie teaming up to pour snow down Marco's back. Mario barks an unapologetic laugh when Marco shrieks and skips inside the house, drying up and changing his shirt and jacket before coming back out to help Nico build a snowman.

 

Said snowman ends up wearing nothing but a Borussia Dortmund scarf. Naturally. 

 

Marco's dad prepares a huge feast for Christmas - because with the exception of Ivy, Reus women are apparently shit in the kitchen - and they all sit around the dining room table for nearly two hours, gorging on everything from Maultaschensuppe and Speckbrotchen, to a delicious roast pork with apple and sausage stuffing, sauerkraut and potato dumplings, and even gingerbread hearts and Stollen for dessert. And of course, more Glühwein than Mario's ever drank in his entire life. 

 

They exchange presents shortly after dinner, and Mario's cheeks flush an unnatural red colour when Melanie hands his a small package from the Reus family, feeling an unbelievable warmth rush through him as he unwraps the gift with clumsy fingers to reveal a pair of black studs that he'd seen - and liked - on his shopping trip with Marco the day before. 

 

Nico squeals when he opens his gifts, toeing off his slippers and immediately pulling on the new black and yellow football cleats Marco got him. He opens the rest of the gifts with the same amount of excitement, picking up his collection of new Marvel action figures and hugging them close to his chest before declaring Captain America to be his favourite, at which point Mario waggles his eyebrows suggestively at Marco, causing the other boy to laugh. 

 

Mario's especially nervous when he finally hands Marco his gift, his stomach churning as Marco unwraps the thin package carefully. His worries are completely unfounded, it turns out, as Marco's eyes light up when he cradles the pair of customized drumsticks, speechless as he examines them carefully. Mario spent a long time thinking about what exactly to get him, and finally settled on the sticks, bright yellow, one with Marco’s initials engraved in black on it, the other bearing Marco's favourite monkey emojis _._

 

Mario's left speechless for an entirely different reason when he opens his gift. It's not that it's bad. Marco could get him a can of tuna and he'll think it's great. It's just that he's not expecting this. He unwraps the package to reveal a Captain America costume that looks more like a glorified onesie, really, and is at least three sizes too big. It takes him a moment to process it, before he erupts in laughter, hiccupping by the end of it. Ivy and Melanie tease Marco mercilessly as he hides behind his palms, coming to the general consensus that he's topped himself in the shitty gifts department.

 

Mario spends the rest of the night trying to reassure Marco that he loves his gift. He really, _really_ does.

 

Ivy and Melanie only tease Marco harder.

 

* * *

 

They’re climbing the stairs towards Marco’s bedroom when Mario gets the idea.

 

He locks himself in the bathroom as soon as they're inside, brushing his teeth before stripping his clothes off and pulling on his new Cap costume. It looks absolutely terrible, patchy and way too big, the stripes that are supposed to cover his stomach low enough that they look more like a crotch patch. It’s impressive, really. Mario’s never seen a harem-cut onesie before, but there’s a first time for everything, apparently. 

 

The hood covers half his face when he pulls it on, and Mario has to bottle his urge the squeal and take it off and pretend he never did this. 

 

But Marco thinks Mario doesn’t like his gift, and underneath it all, Mario can tell that he really does feel bad about it. Which he doesn’t need to, because Mario really, genuinely likes his gift. Anyone who gets him a Captain America costume for Christmas is ace in his book. Even if it looks like this. 

 

He takes a deep breath before unlocking the door and walking into the bedroom, and Marco looks up from where he’s lying on the bed, his eyes bulging out of their sockets before he lets out a strangled sound and proceeds to cover his face with a pillow. 

 

Mario laughs lightly before he moves to the bed, his hood falling further down his face and covering his eyes, making it impossible to see where he lands when he kneels down on the mattress.

 

His knee knocks together with Marco’s and Mario feels a sharp shot of pain travel through his leg. He howls in pain at the same time Marco does, losing his balance and falling clumsily on top of Marco, elbowing him in the chest in the process.

 

“Is this my punishment for getting you the worst Christmas present in the history of Christmas presents?” Marco manages, his voice muffled by the pillow still covering his face, one of his hands rubbing his knee, the other one wrapped around Mario's bicep as he tries to manoeuvre his elbow away from the clearly sore spot on his chest.

 

“I’m sorry,” Mario groans as he finally manages to prop himself on his side next to Marco, pulling the hood off his face and throwing the pillow covering Marco away. “This wasn’t supposed to go like this.” 

 

Marco’s lying on his back, face still contorted in pain, eyes shut tightly. Mario turns to prop himself up on his elbows next to him, their arms now touching. He doesn’t think about it when he smoothes the wrinkles on Marco's forehead with his fingers. Marco relaxes immediately under his touch, opening one eye apologetically at him, before blinking and looking at him properly. He straightens up slightly, fingering the tip of the star on Mario’s chest – erm, stomach – lightly.  

 

“This is really, really,  _really_  terrible,” he whispers, laughing breathily, and Mario feels the grin spreading on his own face.

 

“It’s not,” he argues, hiccupping a laugh.

 

“Yes, it is,” Marco interjects immediately. “Even  _you_  can’t pull this one off.”

 

“Hey!” Mario objects, his brow furrowing as he punches Marco in the arm. “I make a perfectly nice harem-panted Captain America, thank you very much. Chris Evans himself would be proud.” 

 

“Sure, he would,” Marco scoffs, laughing harder when Mario glares at him. Mario gets ready to throw another punch, but Marco catches his hand before he lands the blow and starts playing with Mario’s fingers. Mario grins as he scoots a little closer to Marco. “I can’t believe I got you a shitty Captain America costume and you got me actual customized drumsticks,” Marco groans, covering his face with the hand holding on to Mario’s. Mario laughs when Marco bites on his pinkie, pulling away and moving their hands to Marco’s collarbone so he can see Marco’s eyes. 

 

He thinks it’s his favourite thing about Marco. His eyes wander to Marco's hand wrapped around his own, the pads of his fingers prodding softly at the tan flesh of Mario knuckles, then towards his wrist and up his arms where Marco's tattoos are curling deliciously. Okay, so maybe Marco's eyes are not his absolute favourite thing about Marco. But they're in his top five, at least. 

 

“I love my Cap costume,” Mario mumbles honestly, his voice low and relaxed. Marco raises his eyebrows at him. “Fine,” Mario concedes. “I love that you thought of getting me a Cap costume.”

 

Marco smiles up at him, bumping their elbows together.

 

“The idea was never the problem,” Marco tells him. “I just didn’t know  _where_ to get a nice one that wouldn’t cost me an arm and leg. The only costume shop I know had this giant mess you're wearing right now."

 

“Why didn’t you just ask Montana for help?” Mario wonders.

 

“Hm?” Marco’s ears perk up, his eyes fixed on Mario’s.

 

“Montana Yorke? Significant other of one André Schürrle and resident cosplay queen?”

 

“What?” Marco looks surprised and slightly confused, his fingers stopping their ministrations on Mario’s hand.

 

“Montana loves cosplay,” Mario clarifies. “She even makes her own costumes and everything. She dragged me to some convention once. Dressed me up as Sam from Lord of the Rings. People legitimately came up to me to tell me my costume was better than the original,” Mario shrugs, a smile tugging on his lips at the memory. 

 

“WHAT?” Marco shrieks, straightening up suddenly, until he’s sitting on the bed, looking down at Mario. “How the fuck did I not know that?! I dated Montana for, like, a week. I’ve known her half my life.  _How the fuck did I not know that?_ ”

 

“Golly gee, Marco, you dated her for a whole week and you didn’t know?” Mario cackles, and Marco glares at him before he tugs on his hands until Mario’s tumbles forward, laughing when he lands half on top of Marco. 

 

“Asshole,” Marco mutters, but the smile on his face as he settles on his back and wraps an arm around Mario’s waist tells another story. 

 

Mario adjusts himself until he’s propped up partly on top of Marco’s chest, fingering the dog tags he can make out through Marco’s thin shirt. One of his legs sits between Marco's, and he's feeling light and happy. He swallows thickly before he speaks next.

 

“Hey, so, I’ve been thinking,” he starts, his throat a little dry all of a sudden. “I think I’m going to go visit my parents tomorrow. Maybe go for lunch, like Fabian suggested.”

 

Marco’s smile turns warm, his eyes softening as he looks up at Mario. 

 

“Okay. I'll drive you."

 

"I'm perfectly fine taking the bus," Mario objects, trying to catch Marco's eyes. 

 

"I know you are," Marco agrees. "But I'm perfectly fine driving you. Mel's car is just sitting in the garage unused and lonely, and you're gonna be a nervous mess until you get there, and I'd rather be there for you, if you don't mind. If you want me to be."

 

Mario smiles softly, not really sure what to say. How the fuck did he get so lucky to deserve someone so wholly _good_ in his life? 

 

He leaves a small, feather-light kiss on Marco's chest, resting his chin on his hands and nodding slowly at Marco. 

 

They’re quiet for a few moments, before Mario tugs the hood back on his head. Marco laughs again, pulling it back so he can see Mario’s face, pushing his hair back and flashing him a lopsided grin. 

 

“You should've gotten me Bucky,” Mario shrugs after a moment.

 

“What?” Marco asks, his smile faltering and looking rather worryingly confused.

 

“The costume,” Mario explains. “You should’ve gotten me The Winter Soldier one.” 

 

“But you like Steve.”

 

“I do,” Mario agrees, lowering his head until his cheek is pressed right above Marco's heart. He closes his eyes as he settles in, the rhythmic  _thump, thump, thump_ lulling him into sleep. He scoots even closer and smiles when Marco tightens his grip on his waist, pressing a light kiss to the crown of his head. “But  _you_  like Bucky.”

 

* * *

 

Marco's right.

 

Mario is a nervous mess the entire morning. He can barely think, barely function, let alone talk and interact and be generally decent around Marco's family.

 

He doesn't do anything overtly impolite, Marco reassures him a couple hundred times. He just has a hard time hearing anyone talk to him, too lost in his own head as he makes up a thousand different scenarios of how lunch with his parents will go.

 

He's sitting on the living room couch when Marco comes up from behind him, gripping the back of the sofa on either side of him, and pressing a soft kiss in his hair. Mario smiles for less than a second before he realizes where they are, at which point he surges forward, his eyes wide as he checks his surroundings.

 

Thankfully, there's no one there. They still haven't told Marco's family about their... situation. He's not exactly sure just _how_  thin Marco's bedroom's walls are, but if any of Marco's family members have heard any suspicious sounds coming from the room, no one's said anything yet. So, until proven wrong, Mario's going to assume they _don't_ know what's going on. And he'd really rather not have them find out. Not this time around. Maybe next time he sees them. If there's still anything to tell. 

 

He doesn't fall back on the couch though, too keyed up and worried someone might walk in on them. He turns to look at Marco instead, and the other boy rolls his eyes.

 

He rounds the sofa and plops himself down, poking at Mario’s leg until he settles back next to him.

 

"It's nearly noon," he tells him in a soft voice. "Are you about ready?" He asks, his eyes searching when they try to catch Mario's gaze.

 

Mario nods mutely, taking a deep breath before pushing himself off the couch again.

 

* * *

 

They're coming to a stop on the main street near Mario's old home less than half an hour later. He has to walk the rest of the way, but he can already see the Konzerthaus from where Marco's parked the car.

 

He takes a deep breath before picking up his wallet and phone, and stuffing them in his jacket pockets.

 

"If you need anything..." Marco trails off when Mario finally turns to look at him, and his eyes are earnest and just, warm. So fucking warm it gnaws at Mario's insides.

 

"I know," he whispers, nodding, because he really does know. He takes a moment to lean in and touch his forehead to Marco's. "I'll call you when I'm done." Marco had made him swear he'd call whenever he was ready to leave, whether it's five minutes into lunch or the next day. 

 

Marco presses a light kiss to the corner of Mario's mouth, but before he can pull away, Mario turns his head slightly to meet his mouth properly. He smiles at Marco when he pulls back, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to his neck before getting out of the car.

 

* * *

 

It takes Mario an entire ten minutes to pull himself together and finally knock on the door. 

 

He's spent all this time wondering if he should maybe use his set of keys, the one he'd managed to keep in all the time he hasn't used it. 

 

But.

 

What if he unlocks the door and they don't want him there? What if Fabian hasn't told his parents Mario's in town and they freak out when they see him and kick him out? Worse still, what if he told them and they got mad at him for even suggesting Mario shows up for lunch?

 

He nearly talks himself out of staying, before a random thought pulls him back, Marco looking at him like he actually believes in him, his green eyes so clear in Mario's head, and before he knows what he's doing, he's rapping his knuckles against the door.

 

It feels like a lifetime before the door opens, like hours and years and decades.

 

He doesn't recognize the girl standing in front of him, long caramel locks framing a pretty face, and for a wild second he thinks he's been gone long enough to forget where the house is. 

 

"Who is it?" Someone says behind the girl, and Mario cranes his neck to find Felix coming up to them, his eyes lighting up like a fucking Christmas tree when he spots his brother. "Mario!" He yells excitedly, pushing past the girl and wrapping his arms tightly around him. "You didn't tell me you were coming," Felix accuses, his voice muffled in Mario's shoulder.

 

"I wasn't sure I was," Mario admits, relaxing just a bit against his brother. 

 

This is familiar. Felix is familiar and this is still the house Mario grew up in. 

 

Fabian is standing in the doorway behind Felix when they pull away. He's got a smile on his face and the strange girl has taken a few steps back and is standing close to him. 

 

"You made it," he says, something between disbelief and delight in his voice.

 

"I did," Mario nods, smiling back, taking one step inside the house. 

 

Fabian's grin widens.

 

"Mario, this is Anja, my wife," Fabian finally introduces Mario to the girl.

 

It dawns on Mario in that moment just how much he's missed, how little Felix has told him. Fabian has a wife.

 

"It's nice to finally meet the brother I've heard so much about," Anja says, an honesty to her kind smile.

 

"Nice to meet you too," Mario tells her. He can't exactly say he was looking forward to seeing her. Can't exactly say he was aware of her existence in the first place.

 

Before Mario can dwell further on those thoughts, he's interrupted by a loud gasp, and when he looks at the source, his parents come into view, their eyes wide, his mum's palms cupped over her mouth.

 

It feels like time slows down for a few minutes, like everything weighs twice as much as it usually does. Mario's feet feel like they're made of lead, his head thick and heavy, limbs suddenly weighted and so impossible to manage he thinks they're dragging him down. Most of all, though, he's not sure his heart should be beating so slowly. 

 

His parents look exactly the same as they did when he left them. A little more grey, maybe - at least on his mum's part, whereas his dad seems to have lost the four hairs that made up his crown - and with a few more wrinkles around the eyes. But otherwise exactly the same.

 

It's hard for him to remember at this moment exactly why he left them. He knows it's important, he knows there's some lingering anger and unresolved feelings, but all he wants to do in that moment is run up to them and hide in their arms like he used to when he was a little kid scared of the big bad storm outside. 

 

Except that he's not sure he can. His parents are looking at him like they've seen a ghost, for one thing.

 

"What are you doing here?" His dad finally asks, his voice thick and hoarse and fuck, Mario's knees nearly buckle under the weight of it. He doesn't sounds accusatory, like Mario imagined he would be. Rather hopeful, really. He's thankful Felix is still standing close next to him, something real and tangible in this surreal moment.

 

"I invited him," Fabian tells them before Mario can say anything. It's a good thing he does, too, because Mario's not really sure he can manage something as complicated as words right now. 

 

His mum finally lowers her hands from her mouth and reaches over to him, a watery smile on her face as a single tear makes its way down her cheek, and it's all the invitation Mario needs.

 

He crosses the room in two strides and wraps his arms tight around her, burying his face in her hair as she holds on to him. He can feel something wet against his own cheeks, his breathing harsh and laboured, and he's not sure who’s shaking more violently, him or his mum. Maybe they’re both shaking the same. He looks up from her shoulder to meet his dad's eyes, one arm wrapped firmly around his mother and keeping her close. He reaches for his dad with his other, shaking and aching with need, until his fingers grasp the soft cotton of his dad's sweater, and his dad doesn't hesitate before he steps closer and wraps his arms around both Mario and his mum, dropping kisses to Mario's temple and holding on tightly.

 

* * *

 

It's so fucking easy to fall back into habits when he's around his family. So natural for him to take his seat at the dinner table, his dad on his right and Felix on his left. So comfortable to look at his mum and see her smiling, to see her at all.

 

There's a basket of pretzels smack in the middle of the dining table that has no business being there, just like when he was little. There was always a basket full of pretzels on the dining table because his mum knew they were his favourites and Mario always had to start his meal with some pretzels.

 

Maybe his parents already knew he was coming.

 

The thought is in no way less comforting.

 

* * *

 

They're still at the dining room table and his mum's slicing the Yule log when Mario takes a deep breath. It’s fucking now or never. This is mostly what he’s here for, after all.

 

"Felix is being scouted for the national team. They might want him by next year if he keeps it up," he starts. His mum drops the knife she's using abruptly, and the clang of metal against glass is the only thing that echoes around the room for a moment. "I went to watch him play a few days ago. He's better than I was." His dad's face is blank, and Mario feels like he's sixteen and begging for his future again. It's terrible, being back in this situation after he's spent so long running from the memories. To be back here and to choose to go through it again, knowing what this could mean. Knowing that his relationship with his parents will never heal this time, if things don't go the way he hopes they go. "He's better than Nuri was," he adds as an afterthought. His parents were never aware of his level of skills, but Nuri's made it. They watch Dortmund play every Saturday on the living room television. They must know who Nuri is. "BVB are gonna want him too. He's going to be sixteen in a few months and they're all going to come knocking. So you better be ready."

 

Fabian clears his throat, and his mother places a piece of the cake in front of Mario. 

 

"Mario..." She starts, her voice low, but Mario doesn't it let it deter him. He doesn't want to hurt her or his dad, but Felix deserves better. 

 

"No, mum." He interrupts before she can say anything else. "You guys have to fix this," he tells them, his voice cracking a bit. He stops for a moment, swallows thickly as he tries to keep the memories from eating him whole. "You have to do right by him. You can't do to him what you did to me." He doesn't care that he sounds like he’s pleading. His dad's front breaks a little, and Mario can suddenly see the pain in his eyes.

 

"Mario, no one's offered Felix any contracts yet," his mother tries, and Mario makes up his mind in that moment. He'd been thinking about it for a few days now, whether or not to do this. His mum's just decided for him. 

 

"Not yet," he tells her, keeping his voice level. "But they will. And when they do, if you refuse to sign the contract he chooses, I'm gonna have him file an emancipation request." The silence around the table is suddenly thick enough to choke on, and Felix turns to look at Mario with wide, hopeful, scared eyes. Mario promised he'd give him the life he never had, and he intends to keep that promise. "I've already spoken with my lawyer." There's absolutely no need for anyone to know that his lawyer is technically his ex-neighbour. Thiago really did study law, after all. He just happened to drop out a year into it. "I'm eligible for legal guardianship until he turns eighteen. I have a steady job and living space, and any other irregularities I can fix with my lawyer until the time comes."

 

"You won't need to," Fabian speaks up across from him, and Mario turns to look at him. "He's good, dad," he says as he turns to his father. "The reason I never made it wasn't because football is unfair. The reason I never made it was because I simply wasn't good enough. Mario was, and I took that away from him. I'm not about to do the same to Felix."

 

There it is. Mario's waited for Fabian to admit that for so long, so long he's forgotten how he's supposed to feel, now that Fabian has done it. It certainly doesn't feel good. It doesn't make him feel free or grand or wholesome. Maybe a little relieved. Maybe a little happy that his brother _is_ the man he always hoped he was. 

 

"Believe it or not, Mario," his dad starts, his voice low but steady, a little rough around the edges. It's comforting, in a way. "We always wanted what was best for you. We love you. We went about it the wrong way, were too blinded by what we thought was the right thing to do, that we didn't take enough time to see what you wanted. What you _needed_." He pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath. Mario tries to let it all sink in. His heart is beating so fast, his skin prickling all over. It feels like a million tiny invisible flesh wounds are all healing at the same time. "We're not about to do the same mistake twice. Felix can sign any football contract he wants. We'll have to take a look at it, with our lawyers, of course, to make sure he's getting the maximum he can out of this. But when the contracts come, if he wants them, he can have them."

 

It's so silent when Mario's dad stops talking, so quiet and still, like the entire world has stopped and shifted to process this very important moment. 

 

Mario wants to jump off his chair and scream at the world and kiss his father, but before he can do anything, Felix gets off his chair so violently it falls back, walking around the table until he’s standing directly behind his dad. He leans down and hugs his from behind, burying his face into his neck.

 

"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you thank you thank you so much," he murmurs, his voice muffled and happy and Mario's dad rests his hands on top of Felix's arms on his chest, smiling to himself as he looks at Mario.

 

Their eyes meet for a few seconds before his dad mouths _I'm sorry_ , and Mario can't stop the sudden moisture on his cheeks. When did he become such a sentimental sap? He mouths _thank you_ back at him, wiping his eyes with his sleeve for good measure. 

 

Fabian clears his throat after some time.

 

"Anyone up for some cake?"

 

* * *

 

It's another half hour before they finally leave the dinner table, by which time Mario's full and happy and finally letting it sink in that he's actually fucking home right now.

 

It's just him and Fabian clearing the table now, the others in the kitchen, when his brother catches him gazing longingly at the hallway.

 

"You can go in, you know," Fabian comments casually. "It's still yours."

 

"I'm help-"

 

"I can take care of this on my own," Fabian interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. 

 

He nods, smiling lightly. He doesn't need to be told twice, his feet moving on their own accord and leading him towards his old bedroom.

 

Everything still looks exactly the same when he opens the door, Borussia Dortmund posters littering the walls, his old football cleats still stacked in the corner of the room, the match ball he picked up when he scored that hat-trick against Bremen perched on one of the shelves that sit above his old desk, otherwise lined with medals and a few stray Captain America comics. 

 

He stands in the middle of the room, desperate to take it all in, before he moves automatically towards the closet and pulls it open. The first thing he lays his eyes on is his stack of football jerseys, and he picks out his favourite, the one with the autographs of the BVB senior team of 2005. 

 

He smiles to himself as he fishes his phone out of his pocket, unlocking the screen and opening Snapchat. He switches to the front camera, splaying the shirt over his chest until the entire thing is visible, autographs framing the number 10 on the back. He angles the phone, only his wide grin peeking at the top of the screen. He holds the device closer once he's snapped the picture, typing out _told you this was a real thing_ as a caption, before choosing Marco's name out of his contacts and pressing the send button.

 

Mario's phone vibrates in his hand less than thirty seconds later, Marco's stupidly handsome face on his screen. He smiles as he answers, his stomach knotting lightly.

 

"That didn't take long," he teases, moving back until he's lying down across his old bed, feet dangling off the mattress in his horizontal position.

 

"I cannot believe you actually own this," Marco grumbles into his hear, completely ignoring anything Mario said. It makes him smile even wider. "Not only does it have Dedé and Rosicky's autographs, but _your_ fucking name and number on the back?"

 

"I told you they signed my jersey," Mario cackles to himself, highly amused by the desperation in Marco's voice. "What did you expect?"

 

"I don't know," Marco huffs. "But now I want one," he adds moaning, and Mario laughs a little. There's a short, comfortable silence before Marco speaks next. "I take it things are going well?" His voice sounds happy, and it knots Mario's stomach further, the fact that Marco could care about him like that. He wishes he was here right now because he kinda really, really, really wants to kiss him.

 

"Great," Mario nods even though Marco can't see him, his fingers tracing the letters MR repeatedly onto his stomach. "There was a lot of yelling and crying," he explains, rolling his eyes, "some mild finger-pointing and a whole lot of food involved. But they promised to let Felix do whatever the hell he wants with his life, which is honestly better than any scenario I could've come up with," he shrugs.

 

"That’s great," Marco says enthusiastically. "That boy sure deserves it. You know they already have their eyes on him, right?" He asks. "BVB," he clarifies. "There's no way they've seen him play and not have kept their eyes on his progress."

 

"Yeah, I know," Mario agrees, smiling fondly. "He's going places." He's quiet for another moment, sighing contentedly. "How was lunch on your end?"

 

"Pffft, you know," Marco shrugs on the other end of the line, and Mario can picture the way he's moving his shoulders, his eyes rolling a little. "Big. Loud. We had leftovers. We had to keep chasing Mia since she kept running up to my room to look for you. Real effort she put into it, too, considering it took her about five minutes to climb up the stairs every time."

 

Mario chuckles to himself, feeling warm and toasty lying on his old bed, Marco's voice in his ear filling him whole, like some especially soothing balm traveling through his body. He can imagine lunch at the Reuses perfectly by now. Melanie and Ivy teasing the shit out of Marco, while he tries to pit them against each other in vain. Their husbands watching amusedly as the kids run around the table, Marco's dad asking anyone who's listening if they like the food, his mum rolling her eyes at him the entire time.

 

"She's barely a year old, Marco," Mario argues, his voice amused nonetheless. "You can't possibly know she's looking for me."

 

"She would literally run to stand next to your duffel bag with her wide eyes and hold her palms out in question every damn time." Mario chuckles harder, Marco's laughter on the other end of the line causing the butterflies in his stomach to riot harder. Fuck, he misses him. "So, are you coming back tonight, or are you gonna stay at your parents?"

 

"I think I'm gonna stay here," Mario whispers, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. This is a big step. And he kind of really wishes Marco could be here right now to make him feel better about it. But it's the right thing to do. His family has to heal.

 

"Okay," Marco agrees, his voice a little strained, like he's trying to force it to mirror his word. They're silent for another minute before: "I'll miss you."

 

Mario feels his heart grow tenfold at the confession, both relieved and scared that he's not the only one whose thoughts are plagued by that one feeling.

 

"I'll miss you, too," he admits, because he has to, there's not a really any choice anymore. He fucking needs Marco, and it's a terrifying thing. "But, hey, I was thinking, if you want, we can meet up at Food Brother tonight for dinner. Maybe Erik and Mats can come too. I'm feeling like burgers."

 

Mario looks up when someone knocks gently on the open door, and he finds Fabian standing there. He ushers him in with his hand, straightening up on the bed and making some room for him to sit down next to him. Fabian takes a few steps in, but otherwise remains standing.

 

"Mats doesn't leave the house on Christmas Day, so you can forget about that," Marco replies in his ear, snapping him back to the conversation. "And are you even sure they're open on Christmas Day?" 

 

"Yeah, yeah," Mario dismisses, waving his arm casually. "Nicklas always said he loved a good burger on the 25th and no one ever made him one, so he's made it a tradition to open up after five in the afternoon every year and make himself that burger he craves. We always had dinner there." He smiles and rolls his eyes at the memory, before he looks up at Fabian. "He still does that, right?"

 

"Smart man," Marco says in his ear at the same time, before he backtracks. "What?"

 

Fabian nods in confirmation at Mario, who smiles in return.

 

"Sorry, was just checking with Fab if the shop still opens on Christmas," Mario explains. 

 

"Right," Marco mutters in his ear. "Well, then, I'll leave you to it."

 

"Okay," Mario says, his voice flat as his stomach drops at the idea of Marco ending the call. He's aware they cannot keep this up for hours, but still. "So, we meet there around eight?"

 

"Sounds good."

 

"I'll text Erik," Mario adds.

 

"Okay," Marco says. "Bye, Sunny. I'll see you later."

 

"Bye, Marco," Mario tells him before the line goes dead.

 

Mario only has a second to swallow thickly against the sudden discomfort in his stomach at Marco's disappearance before Fabian speaks.

 

"He seems like a nice guy," he remarks offhandedly, pacing slowly around the room before standing firmly in place and peering over at Mario. He's got a knowing look on his face that Mario chooses to fully ignore. 

 

"He is," Mario agrees, nodding his head mechanically. He doesn't have it in him to lie about that. "The best."

 

"He got you back here," Fabian tells him. "That's more than enough for me to believe you." Mario smiles, meeting his brother's eyes. "Hey, so," Fabian continues, a nervousness to him. "I wanted to apologize-"

 

"Fab-"

 

"No, Mario," he interrupts, raising his voice a little. "You're my little brother. I should've supported you and protected you and instead I fucked you over. What I did to you was fucked up on so many levels, and I'm truly sorry. I don't know how I can ever make up for it, but you better believe I will spend the rest of my life trying." Fabian's breathing is a little shallow, and Mario thinks he might start crying. "I'm so sorry."

 

"It's fine," Mario brushes him off, his voice cracking even as he tries to sound casual. "Water under the bridge."

 

"It shouldn't be," Fabian argues, sounding tired as he sighs and walks over to sit down on the edge of the bed next to Mario. "But thank you," he adds, turning to look at his brother.

 

Mario nods and smiles, bumping their shoulders together familiarly.

 

"Hey, do you wanna come with us tonight?" Mario asks after a minute. "Felix will probably come too, and you can properly meet Marco..."

 

"Nah, man," Fabian shakes his head. "Wouldn't want to impose. Felix wouldn't want me there, anyway." He lowers his head, wringing his fingers together and smiling sadly.

 

"Come on, Fab," Mario argues weakly. "You know that's not true." 

 

"Yes, it is," Fabian insists. "The only place he hasn't managed to push me out of is his football matches, and fuck knows he's tried. He hasn't even told me about him and Lukas."

 

"You know about that?" Mario asks, surprise taking over him. Felix was so sure he was keeping it to himself. 

 

"I'd be blind not to," Fabian tells him, chuckling lightly. "That boy looks at our little brother like the sun shines straight out of his butthole," he adds, rolling his eyes and smiling ruefully.

 

"We kinda do that, too," Mario mutters, chuckling.

 

"He looks at his _ass_  like the sun shines out of his butthole," Fabian clarifies to illustrate the difference, and Mario cackles as he grimaces.

 

"Yeah, no, I see your point," he says as Fabian laughs along with him. "But please let's not go there." A beat. "Do mum and dad know?"

 

"Yeah." Fabian nods. "They don't really care that much, as long as he's being safe. Lukas is a good guy, they've been friends for a few years now, so they know him well. They're just waiting until Felix is ready to tell them." Mario feels an impossible amount of love for his parents in that moment, so much so that he shivers lightly for a second, the feeling overwhelming him entirely. "But yeah, point is, I better not go tonight. Felix wouldn't want that." 

 

"That's because you act like his dad, Fab," Mario explains. "You did that to me, too," he adds. "I know you mean well, we both know you do, but I miss my brother. I miss the kid who used to shove me up on trees and chase me around the neighbourhood. We've got a dad, and he's a fucking good one, too. We could use an older brother." Fabian smiles, nodding in understanding. "And you're coming with us tonight."

 

"Okay," he agrees. "Although, I might need to keep up the dad act, too," he pipes in. Mario's eyebrows are knitted together when he looks at him, his eyes confused. "Anja's expecting."

 

"WHAT?" Mario yells, clamping his hands over his mouth when Fabian's eyes widen in horror.

 

"We haven't told anyone yet!" He hisses, looking behind him to make sure no one's in the hallway. "We're waiting for her to finish her first trimester before we tell anybody. Wanna make sure it sticks, this time." Mario wants to ask, but he doesn't think it's the right time. "But I wanted you to know," Fabian adds. "Maybe keep it to yourself, for now.”

 

"That's great," Mario tells his brother genuinely as the latter pushes himself off the mattress and onto his feet. "I'm so happy for you."

 

"Thank you," Fabian tells him. "I'll see you out there," he says as he walks towards the door, flashing Mario one last smile.

 

"Hey Fab?" Mario calls out to him before he's fully out the door, pulling himself onto his feet and walking towards him.

 

Fabian turns just in time to see Mario wrap his arms around him, burying his face into his brother's hair and holding on tightly. Fabian stiffens up for only a second before he relaxes against Mario, breathing his brother in and hugging him back tightly.

 

"I'm glad you're home, Mar."

 

* * *

 

Mario should not be left alone with his thoughts for long periods of time, is what it boils down to.

 

They're on the train back to Munich, Marco, Mats and Benni in various degrees of sleep around Mario, only he cannot bring himself to join them in the sweet grips of slumber, his brain far too scattered and his entire body on edge. 

 

It's not like he means to act like a paranoid shit, it's just that he can feel the shift almost physically. The transition from Dortmund-Mario, vulnerable and open and fucking capable of trust and that other thing, that terrifying feeling that speaks of caring too much, to Munich-Mario, an angry little thing who wears more armour around his heart than all of the Knights of the roundtable.

 

There's no real reason for it this time, he knows. His family's healing. He's talking to his parents again, Felix is going to play football for as long as he wants to, and Fabian, oh god, Fabian, his wife's pregnant and he trusted Mario and only Mario with that secret. 

 

And they all  _love_  Marco. 

 

He wishes he was kidding, but when his mum met Marco - Mario's roommate, as far as they're concerned - yesterday, she hugged him tighter than Mario's seen her hug anyone. Including her husband and three children.  _For bringing my baby home_ , she'd said when she'd eventually let Marco breathe. 

 

And yet, here he is, on the train back to Munich, and he can fucking feel himself  _shifting_.

 

It makes him breathe funny, when he thinks about it, makes him not breathe at all, the idea that there's two versions of him. Two versions that seem incapable of existing at the same time. He cannot be both angry and vulnerable, cannot protect his heart and be in love at the same time. 

 

Ha! In love. That's so not what he is, by the way. 

 

(That is most definitely what he is.)

 

It's terrifying, really. That he might want to choose the Dortmund version. He  _cannot_ choose the Dortmund version. He's going to Munich, for fuck's sake. He can’t be in Munich and still like Dortmund. They'll probably see straight through him and burn him at the stake.

 

_That doesn’t even make sense_ , he thinks as he shakes his head in an effort to clear his thoughts.

 

It's terrifying, is what it is. And his thoughts are not making sense. At all.

 

Mario has a mild panic attack on the train back to Munich, is what it boils down to.

 

And that should've been his first clue. 

 

* * *

 

Montana takes one look at them when she walks into their apartment that night before asking how long they've been fucking. Marco cackles and Mario blushes, vehemently denying it and putting some distance between him and Marco on the couch. 

 

"It's okay, Mario. It's a good thing."

 

Montana means well, he knows that. She's trying to reassure him. She's happy for him. 

 

Except that he cannot think about anything other than Dortmund-Mario and Munich-Mario and fuck. Vulnerable. Angry. In fucking love. 

 

Vulnerable: susceptible to physical or emotional attack or harm.

 

"It's not a good thing," he mutters. "Because it's not a thing at all."

 

He doesn't stick around long enough to see Marco's face fall. 

 

* * *

 

He sneaks into Marco's room and crawls into his bed that night because it's only there that he can pretend that he's not the absolute scum of the earth. 

 

He clings tightly to Marco, a million apologies he doesn't say at the tip of his tongue as he kisses his way into Marco's mouth. And Marco lets him, because Marco's too good and not smart enough to know what's best for him. And Mario is the absolute scum of the earth.

 

* * *

 

The band play their first set back three days after New Year's Eve. 

 

(New Year's Eve, Mario and Marco spent at their apartment with their entire brood. They got shitfaced until Mario forgot all about his newfound bipolarity and spent the entire night wedged into Marco's arms. Montana and Mario kissed at midnight, because that's what they've done every New Year's Eve since they've met, until they remembered that this year was different. Until Montana smashed her face with André's and Mario went over to Marco and fucking smiled into his lips as he kissed him in front of everyone, because, fuck it.) 

 

Having the band play at Benni’s is familiar and nice and Mario keeps waiting for it. The moment someone is going to come up to Marco and lead him away to the bathroom for a quick fuck. 

 

Except that it doesn't happen.

 

Marco remains seated on the stool in front of Mario the entire night, cracking jokes with Auba and Thiago, bickering with Montana for half the night, and brushing off anyone who so much as looks at him. The only time he leaves his chair is to bang his drum set, and he's back in front of Mario right after the performance is over, lopsided grin on full display as his hair sticks to his sweaty forehead. 

 

It's infectious, really, and Mario wants to push his hair back so bad. 

 

So he does. 

 

He leans over the bar, running his hand over Marco's forehead and into his hair until he deems it upright enough, Marco's eyes on him the entire time, grin permanently stuck to his face.

 

It's enough to loosen Mario up for good, enough to make him laugh at Auba's bad jokes and sneak Marco shots across the bar, their fingers brushing for longer than necessary every single time. 

 

Their entire group of friends - minus Benni and Mats, who are closing up - are waiting for them outside when Montana and Mario finally finish their shifts, much like that first night the band performed at the pub. Mario smiles when he sidles up to Marco. 

 

He doesn't think about it when he slips his hand into Marco's on their way back to their place, chuckling and flipping Montana off when she waggles her eyebrows suggestively at him, Marco barking a loud laugh next to him.

 

* * *

 

He thinks it happens on a Wednesday. He's almost sure it's in the afternoon. He knows he's in the shower with Marco, pressed against the tiled wall as Marco pumps into him until he’s screaming, lips bruising Mario's neck and fingers wrapped around his cock.

 

They hear a loud bang followed by someone calling out Mario's name several time, a familiar voice. Thiago. And he sounds almost hysterical. It puts Mario’s entire body on edge.

 

They can't get out of the shower fast enough.

 

Mario wraps a towel around his waist and runs out of there, nearly tripping on the bathroom rug, water trailing after him and staining the hardwood floors.

 

Thiago's standing in the middle of the kitchen in Bayern sweatpants and a grey shirt he's wearing inside out, hair sticking out and face flushed unnaturally, his eyes redder than Mario’s ever seen them. 

 

Something's not right. Thiago's one of those people who look like they're on a catwalk even when they're at the supermarket, never a hair out of place. Mario's eyes linger on his face and the way there seems to be a permanent frown etched there. His shoulders are slumped like he’s carrying some invisible boulder Mario cannot see, arms shaking slightly. Something's definitely not right.

 

"It's over," Thiago mutters before Mario has a chance to ask, at the same time Marco finally makes it to the kitchen. He's managed to slip on a pair of black boxer briefs, towel in hand as he dries up his hair. "It's fucking over."

 

"What?" Mario asks dumbly, because he was pressed against a bathroom wall with Marco so deep in him he was starting to see stars only three minutes ago, and now Thiago’s here and he looks like he got run over by a car. He needs time to process.

 

"Dav-" Thiago starts, his voice breaking for a second and Mario's eyes widen, finally catching up. "It's over, Mario, and I need a place to stay," he croaks, closing his eyes for a minute and sighing before he looks to his left, and Mario finally notices the half-zipped up bag on the floor next to him. "I can't stay there, we moved in too fast," he mumbles, looking at the floor and swallowing thickly, "I don't know him--we don't know each other, and it was a mistake…” he trails off, his eyes widening impossibly further as he looks from Mario to Marco. “Fuck!” He groans, grimacing as he presses a hand to his face, fingers massaging his temples for a second before he looks back at his friend. "You guys were- I'm so fucking sorry, I should-"

 

"Hey, hey," Marco interrupts, raising his palms up. He hands Mario his towel and takes a step closer towards Thiago. "Don't worry about that, we were just cleaning up," he shrugs, and he sounds so genuine Mario almost forgets that they were doing a lot more than that. "What happened, Thiago? What are you talking about, it's over?"

 

"We fucked up, Marco," Thiago tells him, his voice low, tired, nothing like the vibrant tone Mario has forever come to associate with Thiago. "We moved way too fast and- we don't fucking know each other!" His eyes are wide and pleading, and it's enough to make Mario wish he could close his eyes and go back to a time when this wasn't happening. Thiago and David can’t be fighting. They can’t be over. Thiago and David are the glue that’s holding them all together. It’s terrible, to be thinking that, Mario knows. But they are. They’re the glue. And the glue can’t break, otherwise the entire thing will tumble down. "He can't sleep with the windows closed and I can't sleep with them open,” Thiago adds after a while, snapping Mario back to reality. “He wants to stay here forever, and I might want to go back to Spain one day, I don't know! I can't- David-" he chokes up again, and Mario's starting to see a pattern here. 

 

“But you love each other,” Mario whispers, because he needs this to be true. He needs Thiago and David to be together. 

 

"What’s the fucking point if we don’t know how to be with each other,” Thiago asks, sounding positively exhausted. It makes Mario’s bones shake with dread. “We can’t even agree on who sleeps on which side of the fucking bed.” He laughs without any real humour, eyes unseeing as he looks at the floor. “We moved too fast and it's not-- I can't stay there."

 

"You can stay here," Marco tells him straight away, and Mario pulls himself together long enough to nod. 

 

"You know where my room is," Mario interjects. "You can stay with me as long as you need."

 

Thiago nods frantically as he picks up his duffel and moves until he’s right in front of them. He looks them up and down again.

 

"I’m sorry for-"

 

“Forget about it, Thiago,” Marco shrugs him off, waving his hand around. “Go get some rest. I’ll make you something to drink.”

 

“Thanks, Marco.”

 

“Come on,” Mario mumbles, following Thiago towards the hallway. “I’ll help you unpack.”

 

When he looks back at Marco, their eyes meet for a second, and Mario feels something twist in his gut at the sadness gripping Marco’s face, like he knows something Mario doesn’t.

 

He turns around before he can think longer on it.

 

* * *

 

Felix gets injured in training.

 

He calls Mario up to let him know about a week after Thiago and David break up. He’s going to be fine, shouldn’t be out for longer than a month. He didn’t even want to tell Mario about it, really, but his name’s been popping up left and right on Dortmund transfer lists, so it’s very likely the media will get a whiff of this, and Felix doesn’t want Mario finding out like that.

 

It’s fucked up, is what it is, because, okay, Felix is going to be okay, but there will be a next time, and next time might be worse. 

 

“You can’t think like that, Sunny,” Marco tells him when Mario admits it sourly that morning.

 

He's perched in the middle of Marco's bed, sheets scattered on top of him from the waist down as he leans against the headboard, Marco mulling around the room, finally stopping to pull on a pair of jeans. 

 

“The hell I can’t,” Mario grumbles. “And stop calling me that.”

 

Marco frowns at him, stuffing his pockets back into place as he buttons up. His eyes are drawn together, partially in concentration and partially in annoyance, and something shifts uncomfortably in Mario. 

 

“I don't even know why I bother," Marco mutters to himself before looking up at Mario. "How long do you plan on being an ass for?” He asks, and Mario’s taken aback by the anger on his face. “Your brother is going to be fine,” he adds after a minute, his voice softening at the mention of Felix, but just barely. “And David and Thiago are going to be fine. They’re going to get their shit together and fix whatever they think is wrong with them.”

 

“You can’t just wish everyone to be fine, Marco,” Mario snaps, closing his eyes, irritated.

 

“I’m not wishing everyone to be fine,” Marco states, running a finger through his hair. “I talked to Fabian-“ _what the actual fuck?_ “and he reassured me that Felix’s injury really is minimal. And David said he wants to talk to Thiago. Said he can’t let it end like that. They’re going to make it work.”

 

“It doesn’t matter if they do,” Mario argues weakly. “They’re just going to break up later anyway. Life is shit, man.”

 

“Okay, you know what? That’s it,” Marco spits, emerging from under the black tee he’s pulling on, and taking a step closer towards Mario. It scares Mario, the intensity in his eyes, but he’s ready for it at the same time. He’s been waiting for Marco to hurt him since the day they met, basically, so there’s no time better than the present. “This whole thing? With you being angry and mad and waiting for life to fuck you over every minute of every day?” His voice is louder than Mario expects, hands gesticulating wildly, _angrily_ around him. “It’s getting really fucking old really fucking fast.” He stops for a second, eyes fixed on Mario’s. “No one is out to get you, Mario.” He sighs, sounding tired. “Bad things happen sometimes, yeah. But you get over them. Life is not all bad.”

 

Somewhere, deep inside of him, Mario knows Marco’s right. He fucking knows. And he doesn't like it.

 

“It is most of the time,” he mumbles instead, looking down at his hands. "What's the fucking point of trying to do or have anything when you know it's all going to go to shit later?" He doesn't mean to sound so jaded, but he is. 

 

“What about this?” He feels the mattress shift, and he looks up to find Marco seated at the edge of the bed. His eyes are soft when he looks at Mario. “What about us?" He asks, his voice hoarse. He sounds, almost… scared. "Is this bad?”

 

Marco’s looking at him like he’s the fucking sun and it’s  _terrifying_. 

 

“It’s not…” He trails off, trying to figure out what he wants to say. What is he doing with Marco? Is he just sleeping with him because it makes him feel good? Is he in love with him? Is he just having some fun? It doesn’t really matter, does it? Because at the end of the day, it’s not going to last, is it? The only thing he’s learned to count on is that people always end up disappointing you.  _No, they don’t, you muppet._ "It’s just a thing that happened, Marco," he finally manages, sighing as he speaks. He closes his eyes for a moment. It's exhausting, being this fucking scared all the fucking time.

 

Marco nods, his features turning blank.

 

“Do you regret it?” He murmurs the question, eyes trained on Mario's face. Mario hesitates long enough for Marco to misinterpret it, and when he finally gathers his thoughts long enough to try and speak, Marco's head is lowered, a bitter smile on his lips. "I asked you," Marco whispers before looking up at him. "I fucking asked you if you wanted this or not. I gave you an out. All you had to do was take it. You could've stopped this. Why didn't you fucking stop this, Mario?" His voice cracks towards the end, and Mario feels a piece of his heart break off, falling down and ricocheting off his bones and limbs and muscles until his entire body tingles with pain.

 

“I don’t know,” he mutters, flustered and confused. Marco’s eyes flash with something, his face hardening drastically, and when Mario reaches out for his hand, Marco pulls back, getting off the mattress entirely. “Marco-“

 

“Why didn't you fucking stop this if you thought it was a mistake?" Marco's eyes narrow down, his head tilted slightly to the right. There's disbelief in his tone, and Mario’s eyes widen as he finally registers what he's implying.

 

“I didn’t say it was a mist-“

 

“You’re not even sure that you don’t regret it, Mario,” Marco interrupts, laughing to himself and shaking his head. “And admit it, you’re just fucking looking for an excuse to back out of it. Sounds a lot like a mistake to me.”

 

“I didn’t fucking say that-“

 

“You know what? Fuck you, Mario." Mario flinches at the harsh words, surprised into silence as Marco waves him off and pulls his jacket on in a frantic rush to get out of there. He mutters something to himself before walking over to the door. Mario thinks he might split in two as he watches Marco walk away from him, but Marco stops in his tracks right before he reaches the doorway and turns around. He looks angry when his eyes meet Mario's, exhausted and sad and just--  _Fuck_. “You know, you walk around acting like everybody’s gonna fuck you up all the time," he tells him, his voice unexpectedly even. "But you’re the one who's fucking doing it to yourself. You’re so fucking afraid of being hurt, that you just go around pushing everyone out," he accuses, and Mario feels another piece of his heart break. Shattered, raggedy edges digging into his limbs. Pain all over. "You don’t care how you treat people along the way- you don't, fuck-" he trails off, voice breaking as he closes his eyes to keep himself together. He curses angrily before he continues. "You don’t care who actually gets hurt. It’s just collateral damage to you, whoever you take out to keep your stupid little heart safe. I don’t even know what the fuck it is you’re protecting yourself from," he adds, laughing bitterly. "Montana? Thomas? Felix? Are these the people who are gonna break you? These are the big, bad wolves who are gonna eat you whole?” He's gesticulating wildly, anger and disbelief seeping into his every word, until Mario can feel them travel through his own body, like someone pushing poison into his organs one by one. Marco swallows thickly for a moment, his eyes pleading as they look at Mario. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks next. “Me? You think I’m gonna be the one to hurt you?”

 

Mario feels his heart shatter entirely at those words, at the way Marco looks and sounds. He fucking did this. Marco's been there for him since day one, smile permanently on his face as he stretched and stretched to wrap himself entirely around Mario, to protect him from the big, bad world. And Mario's repaid him by turning him into this pale, angry version of himself. 

 

“Marco…” Hi voice breaks, the name coming out all wrong. He doesn’t know what else to say. He’s pretty sure if he opens his mouth to say another word he’s going to start crying. And he _cannot_ start crying.

 

“Just forget it. You don’t have to worry about it anymore, Mario," Marco mumbles, exhausted. "Because this, whatever this is, is over.” When Mario looks up at Marco, he thinks he can see tears shining in his eyes. “I sure hope it makes you feel better, knowing you were always right about me.”

 

Mario waits for Marco to slam the door behind him, to kick or crash something on his way out. Instead, Marco walks out of the room and closes the door without a sound, disappearing out the house and Mario's life like he was never there to begin with. 

 

* * *

 

He doesn't see Marco for an entire week. It's the longest week of his life, he thinks. The next time he does see him, he kind of wishes he doesn't.

 

It's Thursday afternoon and he's just come back from visiting his grandparents up in Memmingen - anything to distract him, really - when he finds Marco in the apartment, two suitcases and a couple stray boxes by the front door. 

 

At first, he's too relieved to understand, too happy to see Marco back in the apartment, too busy trying to figure out who it is that’s making all that noise in Marco's bedroom. He hears a loud bang and then a string of curses in a mix of accented German and what he thinks is French, and figures, Auba. 

 

He smiles, his face lighting up when Marco's eyes turn to him. Marco looks surprised, almost scared, face pale and eyes glassy as he takes him in. It makes Mario slightly worried, that look, uncomfortable enough that alarm bells start sounding off ominously in his head. He chooses to ignore them. 

 

"Marco," he breathes when he finally remembers what words are. He cannot keep his elation bottled up, features spreading into a hopeful grin. 

 

Marco doesn't return it.

 

"You're not supposed to be here for at least another hour," Marco whispers, frozen to his spot, a small box cradled in his arms. 

 

It's not what Mario expects to hear, and his face falls, heart beating wildly, aggressive against his ribs, brow furrowed in question as he tries to put the pieces together. 

 

Mats is the only one who was in the apartment when Mario left this morning, so Marco must’ve asked him if Mario was home.

 

His thoughts are scattered, his senses on alert and overwhelming enough that he can't make sense of the look on Marco's face nor the stiffness in his stance nor the worry in his eyes. Auba chooses that exact moment to emerge out of the room, Marco's favourite backpack slung on his shoulder.

 

"I think that's the last of your stu-" Auba pauses when he notices Mario, gasping almost violently, stopping in his tracks and turning a pair of confused eyes towards Marco. "He's not supposed to be here for another hour," he repeats Marco's words from earlier, and just like a giant, ice-cold bucket of water, reality and understanding come crashing down on Mario's shoulders, so unexpectedly he thinks he might buckle under the weight. 

 

"Are you-- you're kidding me, right?" He scoffs, furrowing his brow deeper and narrowing his eyes as he tries to keep himself together. He can feel his throat closing up already, chest aching and voice coming up all wrong, breathing all funny because he cannot believe this is actually happening. "We have one fight. _One_.”

 

“Mario…”

 

“And you're moving _out_?" He interrupts whatever Marco was trying to say, sounding incredulous. Marco was supposed to prove him wrong.

 

Auba makes a sound somewhere between a cough and a squeak, smiling sympathetically at Mario before walking past him and grabbing one of the boxes. He balances it in one arm before pulling the nearest suitcase by the handle and rolling it behind him as he makes his way outside.

 

"I'll be in the car," he calls out before he disappears completely, leaving the two of them alone. 

 

Mario swallows thickly, his skin prickling uncomfortably as he waits for Marco to say something, _anything_ to make it all better. 

 

"It wasn't just a fight, Mario," Marco tells him after a minute. He sounds tired, unconvinced somehow as he runs a hand through his hair, avoiding Mario's eyes. "We broke it off, whatever it is that we had going."

 

It's not what Mario expects to hear, not what he wants to hear, and it makes him a little dizzy with worry. He shuts his eyes tightly, trying to sort out his thoughts, resorting to pressing his thumbs to his temples like he's trying to physically keep his thoughts together before looking back up.

 

"How can you break something off when you don't even know if it can be broken?" He sounds weak to his own ears, his argument strained by his breathing, like he's pleading with him. And he might be. “We don’t even know what this is, Marco, or what it was, we never even really talked about it and-“

 

"The only reason we don't know what it is, is because you don't know what you want." He can hear the bitterness in Marco's voice, sharp and angry. "I wanted to talk about it, you know that, but you kept pushing it off and ignoring the issue, wanting to make it go away. Well, it’s gone now. So what are you so upset about? You didn't want me as a roommate in the first place, and now I'm moving out."

 

"Come on, Marco. You know it's a lot more complicated than that," he argues, voice still too weak as he sighs. "That's not fair."

 

"Yeah, but you see, I don't want complicated," Marco counters, shaking his head and breathing through his nose. "I knew what I wanted from day one. I was clear about that. I lov- wanted, I want-" he stammers, and Mario feels his heart skip several beats, hope welling in his chest all of a sudden. Marco closes his eyes. He doesn't open them when he speaks next, his voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn't matter anymore. Life isn't fair," he shrugs. And just like that, that fleeting moment of absolute hope is replaced by a wave of complete desperation. It makes Mario want to scratch his skin out with rage. He’s not sure if he'd like to punch Marco or himself more. 

 

"So you're just going to run away?" He challenges, anger bubbling up in his throat and prickling at his eyes. 

 

"Maybe you were right all along," Marco murmurs, shrugging his shoulders again. "Maybe it's better if I do." He sighs tiredly before he continues. "Look, Mario..." _Sunny. You're supposed to call me Sunny._ "...my thesis is due in a few months, and I really gotta get my shit together and cram for that. I'm behind as it is. I wasn’t actually planning on doing Christmas in Dortmund this year, was meant to be working on my thesis instead. But then things happened, and I got distracted, and now I just- I can't be here. I can't--you're always, _here_ and I--it's just, it's better. If I move out."

 

It feels like a million pairs of legs have stepped on all the pieces of Mario's heart at the same time. 

 

"No, it's not." 

 

He sounds numb to his own ears.

 

Marco doesn't say anything, shaking his head before he walks past Mario, far enough that they don't touch. Mario feels him stop when he's right by the door, but he doesn't turn to look at him, doesn't think he has it in him to do that.

 

"It's just better this way. We're better off as friends so I can't mess you up."

 

Mario's tempted to laugh at the irony.

 

* * *

 

It's hard, not having Marco around. Not in the sense that Mario's unable to breathe or function or that he's constantly hurting. No. None of that dramatic crap they show in movies and write pages upon pages about.

 

It's hard in the sense that it takes Mario about a month to remember to stop peeking inside Marco's room first thing in the morning to see if he's awake yet. In the sense that every time he walks by Matze's bakery, he trips a little on his feet in his haste to get out of there. In the sense that every time he sees Montana's Winter Soldier tattoo or monkeys on his television or anything related to Dortmund or anything related to this earth, really, he feels his heart skip painfully in his chest. In the sense that everything seems to be covered in a thin, permanent layer of dust, in no way visible to the naked eye, but thick enough to make Mario's skin crawl when he thinks about it.

 

Thursday nights are the worst. The band’s taking a break in order for Marco to finish his thesis, and Mario still sits there every Thursday, hoping that this will be the night things change and Marco walks back into his life. 

 

Distraction is the key, he thinks, so he ends up visiting Dortmund four times in the next couple of months. It doesn't actually do the trick, since he spends his entire time wondering what would happen if he were to visit Marco's family. Would they kick him out? Has Marco told them they're no longer in each others' lives?

 

He never actually goes through with it anyway, choosing to spend his days with Felix and Lukas and Fabian, and even Erik that one time they both happen to be in town at the same time. 

 

It's three weeks after his second trip to Dortmund when Thiago shows up to Mario's place, smile back on his face as he tells him that he and David have talked and decided to try and make it work, that they love each other far too much not to see their relationship through, that he's moving back in with David and "thank you so much, Mario. Seriously. For letting me stay here. And I'm sorry."

 

"For what?"

 

"I can't help but feel like you and Marco--that what happened, happened because of me," Thiago admits, guilt marring his features.

 

Mario smiles sadly, unable to hide his feelings and not really wanting to, before he levels Thiago with a stare.

 

"It's not your fault," he reassures. And he believes it, too. "Marco and I were doomed from the start. We were never on the same page and I was just…I don’t know, I need too much, I guess. No one has to put up with that.”

 

"That's bullshit and you know it," Thiago calls him out on his crap. "You're just scared because you don't think that you deserve what he wants to give you," he adds, shrugging his shoulders like it's that obvious. "Look, I don't know what's happened that that made you the way you are. Someone fucked you up. Big deal,” he dismisses. “Whatever happened to you, I’m okay with it. It brought you here and made you into whatever messed up shit you are. And I quite like you the way you are. Marco does, too."

 

"Did," Mario corrects, but he still smiles a little.

 

"Does," Thiago repeats, insistent. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna push you to try and fix it or make it work or whatever," he adds, rolling his eyes. "You think you deserve whatever shit went on in your life, or that you’re cursed and always going to get that kind of treatment. You don’t. And you won't. The sooner you realize that, the better you're off." It’s funny, how casual Thiago sounds. "By all means, continue living your life as a permanently cynical little shit," Thiago teases and Mario laughs before he punches his bicep lightly. "Just maybe try remembering that it's okay to be a happy cynical little shit." 

 

"Thanks, Thiago."

 

Thiago smiles and bumps their fists together before he walks into the room to pack his stuff.

 

* * *

 

Mario goes fishing with Montana and André. Helps Mats and Benni paint the pub. Tries out horseback riding with Thomas. Makes a breakfast of kings with Lisa and goes shopping with Ann. Auba teaches him to drive and Jo spends the entire car ride cursing angrily in the backseat. David takes him to a Bayern game. Thiago makes him dinners.

 

He misses Marco. 

 

* * *

 

Mario runs into Marco at the supermarket once. Well, runs into is a stretch. It's more like he spies him just as he's rounding the corner to the jams and spreads aisle, and he freezes to his spot immediately, somewhere between horrified and ecstatic. 

 

It's terrible, the way his stomach knots all over and his palms turn sweaty, almost dizzy with the reality of the moment. Marco's too busy examining some hazelnut chocolate spread and laughing at something Lisa's telling him - oh god, Mario hadn't even noticed Lisa standing behind the cart - to realize Mario's there.

 

He looks good, Mario decides. His hair's darker and a little bit longer, product-free for once, his beard thick enough that Mario can't see the chin dimples he knows are there. He's wearing his favourite combination of plaid and dark jeans, a beanie half-peeking out of his back pocket. 

 

It's the eyes that bother Mario. They're beautiful, always beautiful to him, thick ginger lashes framing flecks of green and hazel and golden yellow. Except that there's something missing, something _off_ about them. Like they're not aware Marco's smiling, like they don't know they're supposed to be happy and okay.

 

Mario miraculously snaps himself out of it before either of them notice him, walking backwards and rounding the corner back while dragging his trolley along. In true Mario fashion, however, he ends up miscalculating the distance and knocking over a display of cookie packs with the cart, making enough noise to catch everyone's attention within a ten mile radius. 

 

He's mortified, really, tempted to just leave it all and run away before _he_ realizes he's here, but fuck it, his mother raised him right, so he kneels down right next to the unfortunate employee who happened to be standing nearby, apologizing as he picks up the boxes and proceeds to unceremoniously stack them on top of each other as best as he can. 

 

"You always did know how to make an entrance," he hears Lisa say, a fond chuckle escaping her, and when he looks away from the boxes, she's right there next to him, smile on her face and twinkle in her eyes as she picks up some boxes and piles them up.

 

They finish up in no time, standing up as the nervous mess of an employee thanks them profusely for their help. _Edith_ , Mario can read on her nametag. Appropriate name, he thinks to himself, smiling when Marco’s band pops into his head. Edith nods frantically one last time before she shuffles away, a long, thin, lonely braid bouncing off her back.

 

Lisa wastes no time before wrapping a long arm around Mario's shoulder when he turns to her, pulling him to her and pressing a loud kiss to his cheek. Mario laughs as he squeezes the small of her back where his hand winds up.

 

"You're in an awfully chirpy mood," he tells her, pulling away and smiling at her. He's momentarily distracted from his nerves.

 

"Happens sometimes," Lisa shrugs, rolling her eyes. "Just don't tell Thomas," she adds, a very serious look on her face all of a sudden. "Wouldn't want him to know I can smile."

 

Mario laughs lightly, but before he can say anything, Marco finally reaches them, crooked grin firmly in place. It knocks Mario's breath away.

 

"We would never do that to you," Marco reassures teasingly before turning his eyes to Mario. 

 

They stare openly for a few seconds, neither able to speak, and fuck, Mario's missed him. He hadn't realized just how much until this very moment, until it became clear that not a single one of his memories of Marco have lived up to the real thing. That no matter how many times he outlines Marco's eyes and wrinkles and nose in his head, or imagines tattooed arms wrapped around him, nothing compares to seeing the real thing in front of him. He feels his mouth dry up and his arms ache with the need to reach out and touch Marco.

 

He doesn't.

 

"Hey Sun- Mario," Marco whispers, and Mario can actually see how nervous he is. 

 

He wants to say hi back, wants to close the distance between them and kiss him and tell him he's sorry and wrap his arms around him and just _be_ with him. 

 

He doesn't.

 

"Hi Marco," he manages eventually. He needs to get out of here, needs to be away from Marco if he wants to keep his integrity, to keep himself from getting rejected and hurt. He needs to go right now. "I have to..." He trails off, his eyes moving from Marco to Lisa and back. He points to the general direction of the exit, sighing. He thinks he sees Marco's face fall a little, but that might be his imagination. "Go. I have to. I have things to do," he adds, taking a few steps back. "It was good- seeing you. Both." He looks at Marco again. "Good. You- um, you look, good."

 

He doesn't wait for either of them to say anything else, turning on his feet and pushing his cart towards the exit. It doesn't matter that he didn't actually get any of the stuff he needed to get. He just needs to be anywhere but here right now.

 

He's a mess when he gets home, tired and alert and nervous. He packs the little groceries he managed to get at the supermarket, before he locks himself in his bedroom, pulls on his oversized Captain America costume, and slips under his blankets. 

 

He falls asleep imagining Marco wrapped around him.

 

* * *

 

Montana's the one who tells him about it. 

 

Marco and Auba have officially graduated – Mario feels his heart squeeze painfully in his chest at the idea that Marco’s actually gone and graduated and he’d had to hear about it from someone else - and the band are playing their first show at the pub since their hiatus. They're not sure when the next one after this will be since none of them have figured out their plans for the summer yet, but for now there's this, and Mario should be there. They're even going out after the show to celebrate properly. And Montana really, really,  _really_  thinks he should be there.

 

He asks Benni for a day off instead. Benni's confused and a little disappointed, but he ends up giving in and telling Mario not to worry about it. It's a dick move, Mario knows, because the pub is always packed on gig nights, but he doesn't think he can do it, doesn't think he can be in the same room as Marco without making a complete fool of himself. 

 

Still, he goes up to Dortmund the week before the gig to get Marco's graduation present, just in case. He has to pull some strings, or rather one, big, well-connected string by the name of Nuri Şahin, but he comes back from Brackel with a BVB jersey, signed by the entire Borussia Dortmund squad.  

 

He decides on it two days before the gig while watching a documentary about orangutans. He needs to get his shit together. He’s fine. Marco’s fine. Felix’s fine. Fabian, Montana, his parents, Thiago, Thomas. They’re all fucking fine. The only thing that’s not fine is wasting a chance with Marco because he’s scared. It might be too late, he knows, the chance already wasted, but fuck him if he’s not going to show up at the pub on Thursday. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do once he’s actually there, but for now, he knows he’s going to _be_ there, and that’s more progress than he’d expected.

 

He’s a messy bundle of nerves the night before, so much so that he doesn’t get any sleep.

 

Thomas and Mats leave the house together around noon the next day, telling him they hope to see him at the pub later, and Mario finally falls asleep sometime in the early afternoon. 

 

* * *

 

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

 

“What?!” Mario jumps awake, falling off the couch at the same time his front door bursts open, an angry, tattooed tornado crashing through his living room, followed by a head of frighteningly blond, short hair.

 

He blinks a few times as he tries to adjust, pulling himself onto his feet as he finally realizes Montana and Erik are in his living room. 

 

“Erik?” He asks, his mouth catching up to his brain. His voice is hoarse with sleep, his head pounding with the unexpected force of his wake up call. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Oh no,” Montana jumps in before Erik can say anything, sounding rattled and pacing angrily. It’s then that Mario notices she’s got her work apron tied around her waist. What the hell? “You listen to me, you little stubborn punk,”  _stubborn punk?_ “You need to get your shit together and stop being so fucking afraid. The world can be a bag of dicks, Mar, but not everyone is out to get you. You made me get my head out of my ass and see André for the person he is, so fuck it if I’m not gonna do the same for you. Marco loves you, Mario.” Well, shit. This is not how he expected to have it confirmed. Not that he’d ever expected to have it confirmed in the first place. “He fucking  _loves_ you and he’s put you first since day one. So I’ll be fucked if I’m gonna let you bail on him today. I don’t care if you’re not ready to admit that you pretty much feel the exact same way, I am not going to let you sit around on your couch and mope when you should be supporting your  _friend_ -“

 

“Did you know he did great?” Erik interrupts, and Mario still doesn’t understand how Erik is in his apartment. In Munich. Last time they talked – which was only three days ago, he was in England. “His professor called his paper _inspired_.”

 

“No, I didn’t know that,” Mario mumbles, bittersweet smile on his face. Of course Marco’s professor would call his paper inspired. It’s Marco. His entire existence is inspired. “We haven’t talked in months, so I couldn’t have known,” he explains, rubbing at his eyes to give himself something to do. “But I’m going,” he continues, looking at Montana. “That was a great speech, and you didn’t need to make it, because I was always going to be there. I just couldn't get any sleep last night, and only finally passed out this afternoon before I even managed to set my alarm,” he shrugs. “So thanks for a very lively wake-up call. And Erik, what the fuck are you doing in my living room in Munich?” 

 

“You actually think I’d miss this?” Erik asks, raising his eyebrows at Mario. “Marco’s been there for me my entire life, man. I wasn’t going to miss this for the world.”

 

“Well, it’s good to see you,” Mario chuckles, and Erik’s face lights up with a smile as he walks over to him and wraps him up in a hug. 

 

“If you get dressed now we can still make it in time for opening, and Benni won’t whoop my ass for walking out five minutes into my shift,” Montana tells them after a moment. 

 

Mario nods as he pulls away from Erik. He walks over to Montana and presses a kiss to her cheek. 

 

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

 

“For what?” 

 

“For wanting me to get my head out of my ass,” he shrugs, moving towards the hallway. 

 

Five minutes.

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

* * *

 

As Montana predicts, they make it right in time for opening, and Benni nearly pushes Mario out the door in an effort to reassure him that he doesn't actually have to get behind the bar and work tonight, that he technically has the day off. Mario brushes him off and tells him if he'd like him to stay tonight, then he has to let him work, otherwise Mario's just going to go and brood around his apartment, at which point Benni smiles gratefully and pats him lightly on the back before walking back over to where Mats is fixing up some mics.

 

Marco's not there yet. Neither are Auba or Jo or Thomas. Jules and Wilsh are there, though, and Mario wastes no time before walking up to them and hugging them both, even Wilsh, genuinely happy to see them. The rest of his friends are scattered around the pub, so he and Montana line up the corner of the bar with stools and usher everyone over to sit there so they can be close to them. They all happily comply.

 

"All your drinks are on the house tonight," Benni tells them once they're settled, smile wide and thinning hair hidden behind a royal blue beanie.

 

"What kind of pub is this?" Wilsh mutters but Mario can tell he's happy when he hands him a beer.

 

"That's terrible business, boss," Montana argues, lining up some shots on the bar. "Tequila?" She asks, turning to Ann and raising an eyebrow at her.

 

"Bourbon," Ann orders instead, pearly whites on full display as she skips around behind their friends, curls immaculate as ever. 

 

"Bourbon it is," Mario murmurs, grabbing a bottle and pouring some drinks into the empty shot glasses. "Montana's right, though, Benni" he adds, turning to look at his boss on the other side of the bar and handing him and Mats some shots. "Free whiskey is bad for business." 

 

They clink their glasses together before drowning them. Benni grimaces before he looks back at Mario and shrugs. 

 

"It's not every day that Marco and Auba graduate."

 

Mario smiles as he takes the empty shot glasses and walks back to the other side of the bar.

 

"Do we have to wait for them to actually show up or can we start already?" Thiago asks, his shot almost at his lips.

 

"Call it warming up," Lisa offers, rolling her eyes.

 

Thiago smiles in happy acceptance, and they all raise their shots together.

 

"To warming up," David calls out before they knock their drinks back.

 

"Amazing," someone howls from behind, whistling lightly, and Mario looks up to find Auba walking through the door, followed by Marco, Jo and Thomas. He thinks he stops breathing. "You're all here to celebrate us and yet somehow you're drinking even before we get here."

 

"Warmup!" Ann explains loudly, smashing the second shot Montana hands her against the counter before downing it whole.

 

"Uh-huh," Marco nods, smiling at her as he walks over until he's close enough to press a loud kiss to her cheek. "Sure it is." 

 

Thomas makes a beeline for Lisa, grin wide as he kisses her hair and she pretends to be annoyed, while Marco, Auba and Jo say hi to everyone else.

 

Jo and Auba are shrugging out of their jackets and grabbing some stools when Marco looks up from Erik and finally notices Mario.

 

His eyes widen at first, barely a split second before they're back to their normal size, lopsided smirk fitting onto his face.

 

"I thought you weren't coming," Marco tells him, voice cracking a little but he sounds happy, and it makes Mario's stomach all funny.

 

"You asked if I was coming?" Mario asks, following Marco with his eyes as the latter walks around the bar and towards them. Montana's there first, and Marco wraps his arms tightly around her, dropping an obnoxious kiss to her face before letting go. He walks the few steps between him and Mario, standing firmly in front of him, grin crooked on his face. "You asked if I was coming?" Mario repeats, and Marco rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything. 

 

He hesitates for a moment longer before he finally reaches for Mario, grabbing at his sleeve and pulling him over to him, wrapping his arms tightly around his shoulders. Mario's arms snake themselves around Marco's waist, and he wastes no time before burying his face in Marco's neck. Fuck if he hasn't missed being able to do that. He closes his eyes as he takes it all in, the feeling of Marco folded tightly around him, where he can feel him and smell him and fuck, even taste him if he wants to. 

 

"I'm glad you're here, Sunny," Marco whispers and Mario feels his heart skip several hundred beats, butterflies rioting violently in his stomach. _Sunny_. 

 

"Yeah," he mumbles, nodding into Marco's shirt and gripping the fabric tighter with his hands on the small of Marco's back. "Yeah, me too." 

 

Half of their friends are looking at them when they finally pull away, and Mario expectedly flushes to an almost grape colour. It takes Marco another minute to fully let him go, but he shrugs out of his jacket as soon as he does. 

 

He's not wearing plaid, but Mario's disappointment lasts for less than three seconds because he is wearing a light denim shirt that fits him just right, cuffs folded up to his elbows.

 

Mario can't take his eyes off him, but he forces himself to, grabbing Marco's jacket and hanging it beside his own. Marco shoots him another smile before he finally walks away to get out from behind the bar, plopping himself down onto a stool between André and Erik, and happily taking the shot Mario offers him.

 

"Can we drink properly, then, now that you're finally here?" David asks, glass already in hand.

 

"To Marco and Auba!" Montana calls out, and everyone cheers before they drink up.

 

"To Marco and Auba."

 

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, it's another full house, as Mario's come to expect on gig nights. There's even people content to just stand around the place, stools, tables and chairs entirely occupied.

 

It's loud and crowded and Mario can barely hear himself think as he and Montana juggle between keeping their friends company and serving everyone who comes up to the bar. 

 

Wilsh gets behind the bar after a while to help them out. Apparently he bartended his way through university, and while he's a little rusty these days, he can still make a Long Island Ice Tea better than anyone.

 

Mario spends the entire night with his eyes trained on Marco, unable to look anywhere else. There's nowhere else he wants to look at, anyway, and really, Marco _deserves_ to be looked at, what with the way that shirt is hugging his arms, his skin almost a caramel hue thanks to the dim pub lighting. The fact that Marco seems to sense Mario's eyes on him every time is not helping at all, looking up from his conversation with whoever's next to him to shoot Mario a grin that never fails to send a thrill through his body. 

 

The band's set is thrumming with energy, loud and fast and vibrating all over the room. It feels like Mario's never seen the pub that way, like he's never seen the crowd so pumped and everyone dancing and jumping around. Even Lisa forgets to pretend she's perpetually put off, momentarily abandoning her guitar and laughing maniacally when Marco takes off his denim shirt and throws it at her. 

 

He's wearing that thin white cotton shirt underneath, the one Mario loves so much, and it's clinging to him, dog tags beating onto his chest as he bangs frantically against the cymbals, face sweaty and hair sticking to his forehead. It reminds Mario of the first time he'd ever seen Marco play, almost an entire two years ago now.

 

It's been so fucking long and Mario decides he can't wait anymore.  

 

It feels like forever before the band finally announce their usual mid-set break, and Mario stands behind the bar, almost bouncing with energy, his eyes trained on Marco as he slowly makes his way off his drum set. 

 

"Uh oh," he hears Montana next to him, and when he turns to her, his eyes are as wide as his grin as she levels him with a knowing look. "I know that face," she tells him, eyes moving from him to Marco for a fleeting second, as the latter walks closer towards the bar. "You're about to do something stupid."

 

"Yes, I am," he agrees, nodding wildly before turning to look at Marco again. 

 

Their eyes meet and he thinks Marco understands, thinks he knows what he's trying to tell him. 

 

He hopes he does, anyway, because he shoots Montana one last look before he takes off his apron and walks towards the back room. 

 

He barely gets to take a breath before Marco walks in after him, wiping his forehead with his arm, mouth half-open with exertion. It makes Mario want to kiss him right then and there. But they should probably use words before they get to that. 

 

Right. Words. Mario's here to say something to him.

 

"Hi-"

 

"I'm sorry," he blurts out before Marco can say anything, taking a step closer to him and knotting his hands together in front of him. Marco furrows his brow but smiles, waiting for him to go on. "I was a jerk," Mario adds, and Marco snorts. Way to state the obvious. "You were nothing but good to me, and you were patient, and you wanted to help me-"

 

"Sunny-"

 

"And in case you haven't noticed, I'm a mess," Mario brushes him off, talking over him. He needs to get this off his chest. "I'm constantly scared of everything, I have some severe trust issues," Marco snorts again, "and I.... feel things for you."

 

Marco's face relaxes just slightly, and he takes a small step towards Mario. 

 

"Things?" He asks, voice low and husky.

 

"Things," Mario confirms, nodding his head as if this makes everything clearer. "Things that terrify me," he adds. "Things that make me want to stay with you and open up to you. Things that mean that you could hurt me if you wanted to."

 

"I would never-"

 

"Want to," Mario continues for him. "I know. I know that now. I've known it always, somewhere inside of me, but like I've mentioned, terrified here," he adds, pointing at himself in a self-deprecating manner and clicking his tongue. 

 

Marco laughs as he walks over to him until their sneakers are touching.

 

"You don't think I'm terrified too?" He asks, forehead creasing.

 

"You've always known what you wanted, Marco." Mario sighs as he reaches hesitating fingers towards Marco's waist, running the thin fabric of his shirt lightly between his index and middle finger. 

 

"Just because I've always known, doesn't mean I'm not scared," Marco explains, his voice a little hoarse. "You've seen how I am, Mario. You've seen that I don't stay with people, not for long. I even walked out on you at the first sign of trouble, and--I just, the only thing I had before you was Caro, and you know how that turned out. And anyway, that doesn't even compare here. You can hurt me too, Sunny..."

 

"I already did that," Mario whispers, guilt gnawing at his stomach all of a sudden. 

 

"It was my fault too," Marco shrugs, waving him off. "I knew you weren't ready in Dortmund. You were confused and I could've stopped you-"

 

"No, no, Marco," Mario cuts him off, shaking his head frantically. "I didn't want you to stop me. I'm glad you didn't stop me. I was confused, yes, but not about you. Not about this," he insists, trying to sound as firm about it as he feels. He tugs on Marco's waist and reaches out to hold Marco's hand with his free one. "I miss my roommate."

 

Marco chuckles lightly, touching his forehead with Mario's for a second. 

 

"I miss my roommate, too," Marco tells him. "He had the best Captain America costume." 

 

Mario barks a loud laugh, feeling so light, suddenly glad Marco's holding on to him so that he doesn't just float away. 

 

"He still does," Mario nods, and Marco suddenly looks all pleased with himself, eyes almost disappearing into his face. 

 

It's all too much, the way Marco looks, and how close they're standing together, and how much Mario's missed him, so much so that he has no control whatsoever over his next move, tugging Marco close against him by his waist and standing on the tip of his toes to kiss him. 

 

Marco's momentary surprise turns to unbridled need in no time, one of his hands tugging on Mario's hair while the other one wraps itself tightly around his waist.

 

Mario doesn't think about it when he takes a step back, pulling Marco along with him, completely unsure of what he expects to find there. 

 

He backs another step before he hits the edge of the couch with the back of his knees, falling unceremoniously down onto the old sofa, and bringing Marco down with him. Their foreheads clash loudly, and Mario groans in pain as Marco tries to reposition himself on the couch next to him, palm against his own forehead and face contorted in pain. 

 

"Is this how you always show joy?" Marco mumbles his question, rubbing at his forehead. "By bumping our body parts together?" He clarifies, and Mario laughs despite his pain, furrowing his brow at the unintentional implication, Marco chuckling lightly along with him.

 

"I'm sorry," Mario mutters, reaching careful fingers towards Marco's head, trying to feel for a bump. 

 

"I'm fine," Marco reassures him, grabbing his fingers and moving them to his lips. He whispers a few kisses to Mario's knuckles before he shuffles on the couch, something crinkling underneath him.

 

He lifts himself up a little and reaches for whatever's under him, and when he pulls out the Dortmund bag, Mario smiles. He'd actually forgotten about that. 

 

"A BVB bag in the middle of a pub in Munich," Marco observes, sounding rather amused. "That’s not suspicious at all." 

 

"Open it," Mario encourages, scooting close until his arm is pressed to Marco's. Marco looks at him, a questioning air to him. "Go on," Mario insists. "It's yours."

 

"Mine?"

 

"You're the graduate, here," Mario explains, rolling his eyes.

 

"So is Auba," Marco argues, but he pulls the package out of the bag.

 

"I'm not trying to get into Auba's pants," Mario tells him casually, and Marco laughs lightly.

 

"If you think that you getting me whatever this is, is going to help you get in my pants..." He starts, tearing the black and yellow wrapping paper, his eyes positively widening when he lays his hands on the yellow jersey, layered with signatures of players left and right, big, bulky, black, block letters spelling out Marco’s last name and favourite number, 11, on the back. "...then you are absolutely right—holy fucking shit on stick! Is that Kagawa's autograph? And Şahin? Gundogan, Schmelzer, Suboti- holy fuck this is the real deal!" He adds, turning a pair of wide, excited eyes towards Mario, jersey cradled in his arms like the most precious diamond he's ever laid eyes on.

 

"I know it's not Rosicky and Dedé," Mario shrugs, flushing lightly under Marco's gaze, "but it was kinda impossible for me to find them, so I had to settle for the next best thing."

 

"Are you kidding me right now?" Marco repeats, turning back to look at the jersey and gurgling back a laugh of sorts. "This is the best thing anyone's gotten me. My pants are fucking yours to get into, friend. This will guarantee you head for like a fucking year, and then you can do whatever you want with my ass," Marco adds, gesticulating wildly, and Mario can't help the amused laugh that bubbles up his throat, cheeks flushing darkly at Marco's insinuation, feeling so elated all of a sudden.

 

"That's good to know," Mario manages between chuckles, suddenly unable to keep himself from leaning towards Marco and kissing him. Marco smiles into his mouth as he puts one hand to his cheek, long fingers teasing against the nape of Mario's neck. Their mouths fit together perfectly, and Mario relaxes against him, neither of them moving their lips, just content to sit there close together, breathing each other in.  

 

"Thank you," Marco murmurs into his mouth, and Mario feels his heart squeeze in his chest. He can't believe he almost let himself miss out on this because he was afraid. That idea alone is more terrifying than anything he's ever had to or will ever have to face. His fingers lose themselves in Marco's shirt, clinging to him as he tries to chase the dark thoughts out of his mind. As if sensing his turmoil, Marco pulls back a little, forehead creased and eyes searching, or more like finding, because he doesn't really need to search Mario's face to know what he's thinking. He just already does. "I mean it," he tells him, running his thumb over Mario's lips. "Mind-blowing, orgasm-inducing head for an entire fucking year. I eat out like a pro, too, you know that, and that's another year. Mind-blowing, orgasm-inducing eating you out for an entire fucking year. Fingers, lips, holes, cock, balls, cheeks up and down, they're all at your service, Sunny."

 

"Holy shit, no! I did not need to know that," someone whines at the entrance of the small room at the same time Mario bursts into laughter, face flushing to the tips of his ears. He looks up to find Ann and Montana standing there, Montana's hands covering her face and Ann looking at them with a rather amused expression. 

 

"I didn't know you had that in you, Reus," Ann teases, licking her lips and twirling her hair around her finger. Mario's hand tightens unconsciously on Marco's shirt, and he raises one eyebrow at Ann. "Not that I plan on ever experiencing it for myself," she amends, raising an eyebrow back at him. "But kudos to you, Götze," she adds before turning to Marco. "Break's over."

 

Marco nods as he pushes himself off the couch, grabbing the Dortmund bag and placing the shirt carefully back into it. 

 

"Hold on to this for me?" He asks, grabbing Mario's hand and pulling him off the seat before handing him the bag. 

 

Mario nods as he grabs the bag and stuffs it into his backpack on the couch. Marco leans down to press another kiss to his lips when he's back next to him, before moving to go out. Mario doesn't hesitate when he reaches for his fingers, holding his hand firmly as they walk back into the pub. 

 

Marco grabs Mario's apron and hands it to him once they've made it inside, leaning down and pressing one last kiss to Mario's neck before following Ann towards the stage. His eyes never leave Mario's as he settles on the bench in front of his drums, twinkling even in the dim pub lighting as Mario ties his apron around his waist, dopy grin plastered on his face.

 

"Does that mean you're going to stop being a moping little shit around the apartment?" Thomas asks, and Mario turns to look at his friends, still dazed and slightly out of it, smile wide and toothy on his face.

 

"I do believe that's a yes," Auba answers for him, clinking their glasses together.

 

Mario's smile doesn't waver.

 

* * *

 

_Where the fuck am I?_

 

That's not exactly what Mario imagines to be his first thought when he wakes up that Friday morning. But it somehow is, because he wakes up at what he assumes is the crack of dawn, snuggled up into a pair of pale tattooed arms, tufts of blond hair tickling his chin.

 

_Snuggled fucking up._  

 

This whole cuddling thing is still very new to him. Frankly, he never thought he’d do it, ever. But things change, apparently, because here he is, in his apartment in Munich with his hands firmly gripping someone’s waistline, fingers framing strong bony hips and legs tangled together. 

 

He manages to detach himself from the other man's grip with some difficulty, nearly falling off the bed in his haste to get up. The sudden movement somehow wakes something in him, and a rush of memories trickle down his brain like an ice cold stream of water, bits and pieces standing out in his mind.

 

Marco and Auba’s graduation celebration. Or, well, their fifth celebration in the span of three months. They have got to stop using that as an excuse to get him to go out. Anyway, he's pretty sure they went to some club after his shift at Benni's ended. He spent the entire night by the bar. With his boyfriend. Blond, pale, tattooed. If memory serves him right, Marco somehow got him to leave his stool and join him on the dance floor. He remembers spotting Montana bickering with Ann, André’s arms wrapped tightly around her. Thomas and David there too. Laughing loudly as Lisa and Thiago watched them with amused eyes, prancing around the dance floor with Auba and Jo. A whole bunch of people he doesn't know. And he’s pretty sure he made out with his boyfriend on the dance floor. It’s embarrassing really, because he always ends up making out with Marco on the dance floor. And judging from his current location, Mario's going to assume they did a lot more than make out.

 

It could be worse, Mario supposes. He's not exactly his type, but Mario has to admit, he is rather aesthetically pleasing under this light, his pale skin contrasting against the dark swirls on his arms and shoulder. 

 

And he kinda loves him.

 

Something flutters in his chest as he looks at him, and he takes a moment to run his fingers through his hair lightly. There's something familiar about the way the threads feel as they tickle Mario's hand, something exciting about the “I love you, Sunny" that suddenly plays on a loop in his mind when his fingers lose themselves in the boy’s hair.

 

He tiptoes as quietly as he can around the room, sneaking another look at Marco’s sleeping form before he leaves the room. He’s back in there a couple of minutes later, having finally relieved his bladder. He doesn’t hesitate before getting back in bed and snuggling under the covers, smiling when Marco’s arm reaches blindly for his waist as he noses Mario’s neck and buries his face into his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Benni? When are you finally going to admit that Mats is your boyfriend?”

“Never? He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Benni, you can’t expect us to belie-“

“He’s my husband.”

“Oh.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Mario's terrible Captain America costume. Only, imagine it three sizes too big. 
> 
> http://i71.photobucket.com/albums/i129/r_fluff8/IMG_7971_zpsggyerpbg.png


End file.
